The Sanskara Diamond
by last1stnding
Summary: A wealthy, eccentric family has lost the famous Sanskara Diamond. Peter and Neal must leave New York to search for it. Neal is delighted; Peter is disgusted. Then they meet the family...
1. Chapter 1

_**The usual disclaimers: I own nothing related to White Collar; I'm just borrowing the characters for a while.**_

_**I also took liberties with FBI procedures I'm sure and probably with the geography as well. I hope you can overlook any glaring errors.**_

Elizabeth Burke stumbled into the bathroom, silently cursing early bird clients who insisted on what seemed like dawn meetings. She didn't have to worry about waking Peter; her husband was dead to the world this morning, which was a good thing because she'd had to run in and out of their bedroom three times already, searching for the right clothes and shoes.

Finally finishing her makeup, Elizabeth heard a knock on the door. Frowning, she noticed it was only 6:15 AM. Who in the world could be at their door so early?

_Of course. Neal._

Giving vent to a sigh, she, not completely dressed, slipped on her robe and went downstairs. She had better hurry or else Neal would let himself in or he would wake Peter pounding on the door.

On the other hand, why else would Neal be here except to talk to Peter? She sighed and hurried downstairs.

Elizabeth barely beat Neal letting himself in.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Neal said with a cheery smile.

"Good morning, Neal. You're, uh, early," El said pointedly.

Neal turned up the wattage of the smile. "You know what they say about the early bird and all of that." He held up a newspaper. "Interesting article about the Sanskara diamond. Peter see it yet?"

El smiled; it was hard to resist Neal in this mood, even when you wondered what he was up to. "Peter hasn't seen anything today. He and Jones stayed out late last night at a sports bar watching basketball. He isn't up yet."

Neal beamed. "I don't mind waiting."

Elizabeth was a bit nonplussed. "Well, it's your funeral."

Glancing toward the kitchen, Neal asked, "No coffee?"

El's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no! I forgot to program it last night. Peter will kill you if I wake up him at this hour with no coffee!"

"I'll make it. You go brave the lion in his den," Neal offered. "I know where everything is," he added smugly.

Thoroughly flustered, Elizabeth went back upstairs. She hated it when days started out chaotic like this. Trouble was, she also knew somebody else (very well) who hated these kinds of days too.

_**WC WC WC**_

The figure in the bed was completely covered. There was a slight rustling breath but not loud enough to be a snore. With trepidation, El pulled the covers down to Peter's shoulders. He lay on his side, in a deep sleep. For an instant she debated ignoring the man downstairs and letting her husband rest. But then Neal would be up here and the blood would be horrible to clean up…..

"Peter? Hey, honey, wake up."

She got in indistinct murmur in reply and her husband tried to burrow deeper into the bed. "Peter! Are you awake?" El asked, shaking his shoulder.

Still trying to turn away, Peter asked indistinctly, "Is the house on fire?

Smiling, Elizabeth replied, "No, dear."

"Good night," Peter replied.

"Peter, Neal is here. He needs to talk to you."

Peter's eyes slitted open. "Did he steal something?"

Elizabeth considered. "I don't think so."

"Then I'll see him at the office," Peter said dismissively and closed his eyes.

El was desperate. She didn't have time for the boys and their games. She was already running late. Then, inspiration struck. "Honey? I think Neal is looking rather shifty."

Her husband's eyes snapped open. "What's going on?"

"Something about a diamond. You'd better find out the rest from him."

Peter looked alarmed and reluctantly got out of bed, groaning and rubbing a hand over his face. He gave El a dark look. She shrugged innocently and returned to the bathroom. Elizabeth would have loved to stay and hear the story but time was short as it was. She'd get everything from Peter later.

_**WC WC WC**_

Neal smiled as Peter slept walked down the stairs, wearing a white t shirt and sleep pants. Neal, naturally, was decked out in one of Byron's three piece suits, the picture of sartorial elegance even at this hour. "Coffee's almost ready," he sang out with disgusting cheeriness.

Peter sat down wearily at the table. "Neal, please tell me you didn't steal a diamond?"

The agent noticed that Neal did not look exactly shifty but he certainly wore his Up To Something look.

Neal had gone into the kitchen and, upon returning, brought out two steaming cups of coffee. "What? No, Peter, I didn't steal anything. Didn't Elizabeth tell you it's the Sanskara diamond?"

Sleepy eyed, Peter took a swallow of coffee. "Italian roast? Did you bring this?"

Neal grew impatient. "Peter, forget about the coffee. Focus! Didn't you hear me? It's the Sanskara diamond?" He shoved the newspaper in front of his partner and pointed out the article.

Blearily, Peter tried to focus on the article but he was reading at one tenth his usual speed, so Neal felt compelled to speed up the process. "The Sanskara diamond has disappeared again."

"The Sanskara diamond has been lost more than it has been found," Peter pointed out. He started to say something else when they heard a thud upstairs and then El's voice say, "Satchmo!" in a tone of reproof. The guilty party then came downstairs at a lope and approached the dining room table, tail wagging, his transgression already forgotten.

Peter started to get up. "I'd better feed him."

Neal jumped up. "I'll do it. Will you please just read the article?" he asked in exasperation.

Suddenly not so sleepy eyed, Peter hid a smile when Neal and Satchmo went into the kitchen. _That went well_. Always fun to push Neal's buttons for a change. Yawning, he read the article in the Wall Street Journal, wondering how this was supposed to involve him. Some old geezer named John Joseph Jameson III had died of heart disease and somehow the guy had – and lost – the Sanskara diamond. Peter sighed as he read on.

_**WC WC WC**_

Neal had taken Satchmo out in the backyard to play with him and give Mr. Slower Than Molasses this morning a chance to read. Where was the great multi-tasking Agent Burke when he needed him?

Coming back inside, Neal was dismayed to find Peter gone from the table, newspaper still lying there. "He's doing this deliberately, you know," he informed the Lab. "Your father can be an evil person."

Satch was puzzled by the words but wagged his tail happily anyway.

They both heard Peter's voice upstairs and then El's. Evidently Elizabeth had misplaced something that needed an FBI agent's help in locating. Neal sat down with ill grace. _If it were anybody but Elizabeth…. _Satchmo abandoned Neal and went upstairs to be with his people.

Finally they came downstairs, Elizabeth in a hurry clutching purse and messenger bag full of papers. "Don't forget to feed Satch," she reminded her husband.

Peter glanced down at the dog standing beside him. "Already done," he said smugly with a nod at Neal.

El glanced at Neal, who nodded with a shrug. "Well, good. I'll call you later, all right? I want to hear about this diamond." She reached up and kissed her husband. "See you later, hon. Bye Neal."

"Bye, Elizabeth," Neal called out.

"Call me when you can. Love you, hon." Peter added.

"Love you too." Elizabeth went out the front door. Peter turned and started upstairs. Neal stepped forward. "Hey, wait a minute? What about the article?"

"Already read it," Peter said as he went upstairs. "It has nothing to do with us. Now, I've got to get ready for work."

Neal fumed as he stood in the Burke's living room.

_**WC WC WC**_

"The Bureau has been asked to look into this Sanskara diamond business," Reese Hughes said dryly. "I caught the article on the WSJ online this morning. Seems like quite the mystery. Anybody else see it?"

Neal Caffrey's hand shot up; Hughes grimaced. With a not so subtle nudge from Neal, Peter nodded reluctantly. "I glanced at it," he admitted sourly. "Didn't seem to be much information."

"Well, it's going to be our job to find out, Agent Burke. The Director himself called the Assistant Director and so on, down the line. It has ended up in our laps. It was specified from unnamed sources that you would be the agent in charge."

Peter looked dumbfounded. Neal beamed, looking like a kid who found everything he wanted under the Christmas tree. Diana looked suspicious and Jones slouched in his chair in the conference room, as heavy eyed as Peter had been earlier.

"Hughes, with all due respect," Peter began a bit angrily, "this is a needle in a haystack. The Sanskara diamond has never been worth all the trouble it's caused – "

"Been three murders since it was discovered in 1879," Neal put in with ghoulish pride.

His partner gave him a dirty look. "We have no idea when this diamond supposedly disappeared. It was last seen in public in 1962, according to the Journal. Mrs. Jameson wore it to a fat cat fund raiser featuring the key note speaker, President Kennedy. We're supposed to find something that no one seems to have any idea when it disappeared. Are there more details than was in the article?"

"Not much," Hughes admitted. Suddenly tired, he sat down at the conference table with the team. Everyone exchanged a look; Hughes rarely sat down to run a briefing. "Everybody assumed the diamond was in the wall safe for all these years. But with the senior Mr. Jameson's passing, the diamond was not there. According to his son, John Joseph Jameson IV, there could only be a limited number of people who had access to this safe. At any rate, the estate cannot be settled until the diamond is found and this is of paramount importance to the current Mr. Jameson."

"I still don't know how I'm supposed to find a diamond that may have been stolen or misplaced a few decades ago. And what kind of staff am I going to have? How many people are we going to have onsite? It said in the article that the family estate is outside Mystic, Connecticut. Wherever that is, as there were no other details." Peter was steamed at the very thought of it.

Hughes held up a hand. "First things first. No staff, Peter. Just you. I have orders from above for this wild goose chase but nobody else was specified except for you. I've been up half the night having this explained to me personally by the AD himself. The Jameson estate is past New London and Mystic; somewhere near Lord's Point. It is near the coast. It's a 35 room mansion, built in 1904. The only ones living there now are Mr. Jameson, a widower, his cousin, Daniel Wilde, and his wife, Bettina. Mr. Wilde is the son of the late Mr. Jameson's sister."

"Wish they'd found a different name," Jones muttered. "All this JJJ stuff gives me a headache." When he looked up from scribbling, Clinton Jones was horrified to realize he'd spoken aloud. Peter and Diana were glaring but Neal favored him with a smile, quickly wiped away by Hughes' icy stare.

"Keeping late hours, are we, Jones?" Hughes said in a clipped voice. "I do so hate to inconvenience you in this way."

"Sorry, sir," Jones mumbled, all the while cursing last night's last round. And how the hell did Peter look so perky this morning anyway? He had matched Jones drink for drink.

Hughes, mercifully, moved on to Neal, whose hand had been waving frantically since the older man had ordered Peter to look into the matter. "Caffrey, stop that. You look like you're hailing a taxi."

"I'd like to go with Peter, sir," Neal spoke in a breathless rush. "I mean, thirty five rooms are a lot to search for just one person and I could help-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hughes barked. "Thirty five rooms full of art and antiques and you want me to allow you run unfettered through all of it?"

"I'll go, sir," Diana offered, to Neal's annoyance and Peter's relief. "Between the two of us, we should be able to go through it fairly quickly."

"Does anybody actually listen at briefings anymore?" Hughes snapped. "Look, these orders came from above. Way above. They were very specific: Agent Burke was to search for the diamond and question any persons of interest he may find. No other agent was to be allowed inside the house. The Jamesons value their privacy."

It was Diana's turn to look annoyed and Neal's hand shot up again. Seeing Hughes ignore him, Neal decided on a bold course of action. "Sir, that only specifies agents; I'm not an agent. Besides, Peter could use my help," he added with a hopeful but smug smile.

Peter hid his eyes behind his hand. To Diana's surprise, Hughes was considering. "Well, I suppose I could use the old 'we didn't understand' excuse. It might work." Addressing Peter, he asked, "How comfortable are you with Caffrey in that mansion? I don't expect you to babysit him; just get the damn job done and get back here ASAP to do some real work. I've got some things of my own to do and having **you**," he pointed at Burke, "absent for **this** is ridiculous!"

Peter finally looked up. He couldn't believe how this day was turning out and it was still early morning. Stealing a quick glance at Neal, he could not help but notice how bright and happy Neal was at the thought of this misbegotten treasure hunt. But he also knew from experience how hard it was to keep track of Neal, especially under these circumstances.

Neal's smile wavered a bit when it became obvious that Peter was having doubts. But, in all honesty, Burke felt he didn't really have a choice. He wasn't going through all thirty five rooms himself. "I suppose he could be a help," Peter remarked somewhat gracelessly.

"Good, then that's settled," Hughes said hastily, as if relieved to have the whole matter behind him. Caffrey looked delighted naturally, but Burke most emphatically did not. Hughes' habitual scowl softened a trifle. "Look, Peter, I know this is a no win situation but the Director himself was approached by some senior politicians, who value the Jameson name, to assign you to the case. The Jamesons were big campaign donors in the past and that always opens up a lot of avenues not readily available to others."

"I don't understand why Jameson and his various relatives can't do their own search through the house," Peter grumbled.

Caffrey looked ready to reply until a look from Hughes made his words die stillborn on his tongue. "I suspect there are some trust issues here; you know how people get when there's a will and money involved. Just try to find the damn thing or resolve it somehow. Quickly, if possible." Hughes paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "Uh, my assistant found out its much cheaper to drive there than to fly, so it looks like you're driving Peter. You know they're watching the expense accounts now days." Hughes found himself studying his papers intently, rather than face the look of betrayal his senior agent was giving him. "You'd better get home and gather some clothes in a suitcase. You too, Caffrey."

Neal gave him a sunny smile. "Just think, Peter. A road trip!"

"Yeah, wonderful," Peter mumbled. His voice led everyone in the room to seriously doubt how wonderful he felt about it.

Diana still looked irritated that she wasn't going; Jones looked thankful.

Neal, however, thought about the upcoming road trip with great happiness. First time out of New York City in longer than he wanted to think about. Interesting days going through an entire mansion filled with art and antiques and hopefully a diamond somewhere. He'd always wanted a look at the infamous Sanskara diamond. To be blunt, Neal had considered taking a much closer look at it some time ago. But more inviting, easier targets presented themselves so he kept putting it off. Now he was going on a true treasure hunt. A field trip. After a leisurely day of sorting through antiques and art, there would be evenings in a fine hotel, with a great restaurant and a decent wine list. Maybe even somebody who knew what he was doing at the lounge piano bar. Good times. Even Peter would be happy, once they started the hunt and found the diamond.

Road trips to Peter meant quite a different thing. A night without Elizabeth in a strange bed. Overpriced restaurant food; way overpriced beer. Waiters with attitude. No couch, no wife, no dog and a television bereft of the many sports channels out there. Missing the Knicks game while Neal dithered over a wine list. Trying to keep an eye on Neal in a house full of temptation. Most of all, going through some rich guy's closets because he was too lazy to do it himself. Just great.

With a resigned sigh, Peter met Diana's sympathetic glance. "I wonder who I pissed off on days like this," he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride along the coast was beautiful and Neal relished the rarefied feeling of freedom again. The sky was a deep blue except for some darkly ominous clouds lurking in the direction they were driving. But none of that troubled Neal. He did make an effort, albeit an unsuccessful one, to keep his chattering under control until Peter made peace with this unexpected detour in his day. Neal had gathered enough to realize that Elizabeth, for a change, was not happy with her husband's unexpected absence. He didn't know exactly what the issue was, but Neal knew enough to keep quiet when he heard this. Peter scowled, clutched his coffee cup and said nothing for several miles. Eventually however, he thawed under the intensity of Neal's personal sun. The first icebreaker had been Jones' look of dismay when Hughes dumped three mortgage fraud cases on him. Diana was still upset to be left behind but she had inherited a loan scam from Peter's desk to keep her busy.

"It's strange how you're the only one who's happy about this diamond business," Peter remarked, steering the car with one hand and his coffee cup in the other.

"I'm surprised you're not," Neal replied, careful to keep his voice even. Peter was an excellent driver; until Neal got under his skin. Then it was every man for himself. "You find the Sanskara diamond; this case could make your career." Even as he spoke, Neal could have bitten his tongue.

Peter gave him a dry look. "I thought catching you made my career. That's what you're always saying."

"Well, there two different categories," Neal argued. "Famous criminals, like me, are in one category and famous jewels in another."

"Nitpicking," Peter dismissed.

"It is not," Neal insisted.

"Is so."

"Is not."

Peter glanced over. "This is getting pretty childish. You should grow up."

"Me!" Neal exploded in an affronted voice. "I think it takes two to keep this going." Peter didn't reply and looked out the window. "Do you want to keep this up?" Neal asked frostily.

"No. This day is bad enough as it is." The car phone rang and Peter grimaced. "Hughes. Again."

"Why? We're on our way," Neal asked perplexed.

Peter answered and Neal heard through the car speaker phone conversation to realize they were not going fast enough for the Jameson family. They had called the Bureau three times already. Peter held his temper but it was an effort. Neal could see that jaw muscle twitching. After Peter hung up, Neal asked, "No time for lunch?"

"We're making time for lunch," Agent Peter Burke replied in that voice that signaled he'd had enough of the world at that point. Neal wisely subsided and did not complain over the greasy burgers and fries at the truck stop.

_**WC WC WC**_

After a long drive where the far distant rain clouds had moved much closer, they finally found the mansion at the end of a winding, overgrown driveway complete with potholes. It was a dark, moss covered, imposing structure of age darkened stone and even a couple of gargoyles on the roof. Many of the upper story windows of the five floors were grimy and probably opaque to the inhabitants inside.

For the first time since leaving New York, Neal's face darkened. "What an appalling sight. Neo classical mixed with a cheap version of Gothic folly."

Peter stopped the car by the front door, a massive wooden edifice at least seven feet tall. "Atrocious," he agreed with a healthy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

Neal looked irritated. "Well, what were you looking at?"

"The loose mortar, the sagging door, the rotting wooden window casings. You know. Trivia."

Neal shrugged. "Well, your father was the builder, right?" He took another look around. "Wow, it is pretty bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Peter glanced at the front door. "I guess there is no welcoming committee, despite all the calls to hurry."

"Maybe it's cocktail hour," Neal suggested.

Sprinkles of rain started hitting the windshield. "Going to be dark early tonight," Peter remarked, thinking of that winding driveway and the rutted road in. _Should be fun in the night._ "Let's go; get this over with. At least we'll have the first meeting out of the way."

Watching the rain begin to pick up, Neal protested. "I'll get my suit wet." Receiving The Look from Peter, Neal hurriedly opened the door and dashed onto the front porch, where there was no cover. He rang the bell but they heard no sound.

Peter joined him and they both stood in the rain that was at first a gentle sprinkle but was now gathering momentum. A gust of wind blew rain in on them. Neal rang again. Then Peter rang, holding it down for a long time. "I don't think the damn thing works," he snapped.

Together, both he and Neal began pounding on the door. The rain started to pour down on them and Peter was tempted to say the hell with it when the door finally opened. A tall, thin man with perfectly coiffed gray hair, tailored pants and a Mr. Rogers type sweater stood inside, looking down disdainfully at both of them. "There is no Auto Club here, gentlemen."

Neal, seeing Peter's temper flare dangerously, stepped forward hastily. "We're expected; we're with the FBI." This is Special Agent Peter Burke and I'm Neal Caffrey, his associate." When another gust of wind blew even more rain in, causing the man to step back himself, Neal pasted on a wide smile. "Could we come in?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, let them in, Johnny. You've been complaining long enough about how late they are." A woman's voice came from inside, sounding frightfully bored with the whole thing.

Reluctantly, the man stepped aside. Peter and Neal quickly came inside, water cascading off of them.

The man gave them a condescending look. "We expected you. **Hours** **ago**."

"The directions we received weren't too complete. Seems like your driveway isn't on any road map or GPS." Peter said mildly, but there was steel in his eyes. He held out his hand. "You must be John Joseph Jameson IV."

The tall man glanced at the proffered hand and sniffed but did eventually extend his own hand. "How very astute of you." He gingerly grasped Peter's hand.

Peter smiled; the kind that worried Neal even to this day. "Pleasure." Inside, Peter was laughing. _This guy's hand is completely smooth_. Somehow it wasn't surprising that JJJ IV wasn't into anything that involved getting a callous from physical work. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Neal beaming, as if Jameson, who had pointedly not offered his hand to shake, was a long lost friend. The kind of smile Neal used on a mark, something had caused Peter concern on numerous occasions.

A very tall, slim brunette wearing a low cut blue cocktail dress slinked into the foyer. She raised her full glass with a smile. "John, are you ever going to introduce us?" She ran her eyes over both Peter and Neal, frankly appraising and approving. They exchanged glances.

"My cousin's wife, Bettina," JJJ said in a fashionably bored tone.

Neal, who was the closest, shook hands with the lady, who seemed reluctant to let go. "Charmed, I'm sure," she remarked in a throaty tone with a predatory smile.

Neal responded in kind. "It's my great good fortune to find beauty here in such an out of the way area. Neal Caffrey, at your service." Bettina preened; Peter stopped just short of rolling his eyes.

JJJ looked a mixture of amused and annoyed. "Well, you'd better come in. Better late than never, I suppose. Oh, and mind the rug. Its nineteenth century. Do not get it wet."

Neal nearly had an apoplexy hearing that but Peter shook his head no. Bettina chose that moment to approach him. "You must be the famous Agent Burke we've heard so much about," she purred, almost putting her face right in his.

Mastering a reflex to pull back, Peter stood his ground and smiled tightly. "I'm still not sure why I'm so famous to the Jameson family. I don't recall ever meeting any of you."

Bettina put her heavily made up face even closer to Peter's and smiled. "You never did meet any of us. But Johnny's father, back in 1998, lost some money in a financial stock scam of some sort. You were one of the investigators that sorted out the mess and caught the man."

Peter's brow was furrowed. "Who was that?"

Bettina pouted. "Oh, who knows, really? Who cares, now?"

"It was Dale Edward Markham of Sunset Securities." A short man with very dark hair rose from his chair next to the fire, laying aside his book and his glass of wine. He marched up to Peter aggressively and stood well inside of the agent's personal space.

Peter swallowed his annoyance but he was damned tired of having Bettina and this new guy in his face. "And you are?"

The dark haired man, also in well-tailored clothes, smiled slightly. "I'm Daniel Wilde, the late Mr. Jameson's nephew."

"You remember this Markham case?" Peter asked cautiously. He remembered the case but a connection with the Jamesons? No clue.

"I do indeed. I am a lawyer. I also dabble a bit in crime solving and the history of crime. I imagine you and I could talk quite a long time, Agent Burke," he added with a sense of self importance.

Peter shot a glance over to Neal, who stood by as impassive as a statue. Only his eyes glinted of suppressed humor. "Yeah, that would be great," Peter said weakly.

"Oh, tell him, Danny. Otherwise if Agent Burke's the kind of man we want for this, he'll be wondering all night," Bettina added.

"That has yet to be determined," John Jameson IV added darkly.

Neal stiffened; his smile never wavered but inside he seethed at this insult to Peter. The target of the barb, however, only nodded.

"Uncle John did not purchase the stock under his own name," Daniel informed them pompously. "He persuaded some old crony, named Samuel Morrison Pederson, to purchase them. He held the paper but Uncle put up the cash."

"They were two old geezers in over their heads," Bettina added disinterestedly.

Daniel ignored her. "When Uncle found he had been swindled, he pulled some strings and put pressure on the FBI, SEC and whoever else he could find to investigate. It turned out only you were able to sort out the tangled financial web of Markham's deviousness. Uncle never forgot that. I gather that's why he specified you in his will."

Peter's brow furrowed. "His will?"

"Indeed." John Jameson turned around from pouring himself another drink at the bar in the corner of the room. He pointedly did not offer any to the others. "It seemed Father realized the diamond had gone missing some time in 2004. The will has been amended on September of that year to name you, Agent Burke, as the man who should head the effort to recover it, if it wasn't discovered in the meantime. The part regarding you was found in a separate codicil. We didn't even know it existed until our lawyer, P. Edwin Matthews III, informed us."

Peter sighed. "I could use some help. My team back in New York could assist in straightening this out in a day or two."

"Well, yes," Jameson said with a pained smile of someone who was cursed to explain everything to the dimwitted. "We specified no one but you. We have a horror of publicity. We have not been tabloid fodder for years; we intend to keep it that way. Yet, you brought this Mr. Caffrey along, despite our instructions not to."

"Caffrey!" Daniel Wilde suddenly crossed the space between them and stood in Neal's space. "Are you Neal Caffrey, the forger? Neal Caffrey, the man Agent Burke caught after a five year chase?"

"Three year," Peter hurriedly corrected.

Neal pasted on his megawatt smile. "I am, sir."

"John," Daniel turned to his cousin with anger and alarm on his face, "Agent Burke has brought a known thief into our midst. This man was suspected in a number of brazen arts thefts!"

Bettina perked up. "How exciting!"

Neal stopped just short of bowing. "Thank you." Peter fought the urge to cover his face with his hands.

"Agent Burke, is this true?" Jameson demanded.

"It is. But Neal Caffrey has reformed _(I hope)_ and is now a consultant for the FBI. He has worked with me on several cases quite successfully. And, as you did point out, you would not allow me to bring other agents along. So Mr. Caffrey was the only one I could bring," Peter added with some smugness. He was also tired of standing there dripping in the designated area and he was getting very hungry.

"He'll steal everything not nailed down," Daniel shouted with vigorous righteous.

"Why should he be different than the rest of us?" Bettina drawled, smiling at Neal, who smiled back warmly.

"If he must stay, you, Agent Burke, will be responsible for everything he does!" Jameson said sternly.

"Oh, he's used to that," Neal said with a sprightly smile, making Peter want to hit him. Bettina laughed and edged closer to the youngest man in the room, all but batting her eyes at him.

"This is a mistake," Wilde warned again, making even Neal's smile waver a bit.

Jameson sighed. "Well, I suppose you'll want to get started," he began.

Peter cut him off. "Actually, not tonight. We just got here and we haven't got a place to stay yet. And dinner would be really nice at some point."

"We're not a hotel," Jameson informed them haughtily.

"Oh, we can see that," Neal replied quickly, openly looking around and taking inventory.

"Look, I don't want this to take forever," Jameson said sharply. "If Father's will hadn't specified you, I would look myself and be done with it in a day or so."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "That's so nice that you've honored your father's wishes and waited," he observed mildly.

Jameson glanced away, uncomfortably. "I may not approve of Father's reasoning but this was his wish," he said pompously.

Neal and Peter shared a quick look. _Got him there. _Almost as good as a poker tell.

"But I can't have both of you under foot for days and days," Jameson finished.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I don't have unlimited time to spend here either," Peter said with an edge in his voice.

"Let me guess; crime never sleeps," Bettina proclaimed with a delighted laugh, hanging on Neal's arm. The young man looked delighted.

Peter looked annoyed. "Something like that."

_**WC WC WC**_

The rain was driving down in sheets, soaking both Peter, as he fiddled around under the car hood, and Neal, who held the flashlight.

Peter tinkered and cursed cars that didn't start and particularly, cars with computers that wouldn't allow them to start. Neal glanced back at the house. No one at the front door of course. Jameson and the Wildes made it clear they could care less if they were stranded; he and Peter were never even invited to sit down, let alone extended any shelter from the weather.

Swearing in disgust, Peter said, "I don't think there's anything I can do about this car. Shouldn't the tow truck be here soon?"

Neal glanced at his watch, wiping the water off and hoping the Rolex watch kept working. "Probably still another twenty minutes." The con man was not finding this enjoyable at all. He'd placed his hat inside the car but the rain was soaking the Devore suit he wore.

Peter was still under the hood but a movement caught Neal's eyes and he looked up, startled to see a light on in an upper story of the house. Even more surprising, there was a large figure standing in the window, hands cupped around his eyes, trying to see out.

"Peter!" Neal said softly, jabbing his partner's arm.

"Dammit, Neal," Peter swore, losing his grip on a wire.

"Look!"

Peter turned around as a sudden bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating a large bearded man staring at them. It was too far away to make out his expression and once the man realized he had been observed, he shuffled away from the window.

"Well, well," Peter said, "Cousin It, I presume?"


	3. Chapter 3

Both Peter and Neal were completely soaked by the time the tow truck showed up. It was only after nine pm but it seemed like midnight. Neal was irritated with the mechanic who made disparaging remarks about his hat, an item Neal was determined to protect at all costs. His irritation grew to epic proportions when Peter joined in the snickering. Neal was angry enough to fail to consider the fact that Peter might be playing along with the guy in order to get the Taurus repaired immediately. But his partner had never made a secret of the fact he thought the hat was dumb, so it wasn't much of a stretch to chuckle with the mechanic. Neal made it a point to ignore Peter when they walked through the rain to get a convenience store sub sandwich (dry) and a cup of weak coffee. (They sold out of the soup earlier.) The mechanic would not have the part needed for the Taurus until mid-morning at the earliest but did relent enough to take them to a motel at the edge of town with a flickering sign that said Sleepy Head Inn. He made a point of telling them they were lucky to get a room, this being off season, you know.

That became a chorus both Peter and Neal hated to hear.

The old man whom they roused to get a room was cranky and nosy about their business. Despite a lack of cars in the parking lot, he only had one room available (off season) and it had one double bed. Neal had balked, tried making some calls to the hotels whose signs he'd seen along the road but they were all full. Off season, you know. Most rooms were closed up.

Peter was getting very tired and just wanted to sit down somewhere. He'd gone on pretty well through the day but now, last night's late beers with Jones through the game were coming home to roost. When Neal struck out with the fourth hotel, Peter took the room.

Paying a steep price for an old room, they stood in the darkness while searching for a light switch. When Peter finally found it, they saw a rather dusty room with hideous printed orange curtains and a faded blue bedspread on a double bed that sagged noticeably in the middle.

"Oh hell," Peter muttered.

Neal shot him a filthy look, went into the bathroom and tossed out a threadbare dingy white/grey towel and shut the door. Peter sank into an overstuffed chair and nearly ended up on the floor as the cushion seemed to fall into a hole. He levered himself up, sighed and took off his soaked suit jacket and tried toweling off his dripping hair. Looking for a television remote, he discovered the set was too old for one, and tried to switch it on manually. Nothing happened.

Peter swore again; this time it was serious. He thought about going back to the office for another round with the old man but knew that was hopeless for tonight. From the bathroom, he heard a loud noise and a gush of water, followed by what sounded like cursing from Mr. Suave, Neal Caffrey. The agent sighed; at any other time he would relish this moment at least, if he weren't so damn tired. Gingerly sitting on the bed, he pulled out his phone and called Elizabeth. His darling, gorgeous angel of a wife was still upset that he couldn't be there for her friend Shannon's birthday party and there was a distinct touch of frost in the air. After that, Peter shrugged, telling himself it would be better in the morning. Now if he could only believe that.

_**WC WC WC**_

By the time Neal emerged from the shower, which wasn't any better than the ones in supermax, he was still in a foul mood and wondered if by some way Peter had set all this up just to ruin Neal's trip. His partner however, was already in bed. In the middle of the bed actually. "Oh no, you don't," Neal snapped. He gave Peter a sharp jab in the upper arm.

"Ow!" Peter's eyes opened and for a moment, he couldn't place where he was. Until he saw a clearly ticked off Neal Caffrey. "What?"

"You are not hogging the entire bed!" Neal huffed.

"I'm not," Peter mumbled, trying to find a way for the flatter than a dime and rather smelly pillow to give his neck some support.

"You. Are. Too." Neal crossed his arms and unknowingly did a nice impression of Elizabeth before Peter left this morning.

Waking up a bit, Peter began to get a little angry himself. "Well, I got tired of waiting for the bathroom," he said bitingly.

"Any other time you'd just watch Sportscenter and wouldn't notice."

"The goddamned television doesn't work!" Peter snapped.

Neal paused, reconsidering. _Uh oh._ He put on a strained smile. "Okay, okay. We'll just make the best of it-" _God, those words didn't even belong on his tongue! _"And we'll regroup tomorrow. Make a new start of it."

Peter still looked annoyed. "Whatever."

Neal did some fast thinking. "Have you talked to Elizabeth yet?"

"Yes," Peter replied in a forbidding tone.

_Oh. Even bigger problem. _"Well, guess we should just get some rest then, huh?" Neal said with forced brightness. Peter only gave him a glare and closed his eyes.

Neal went looking for the one light switch that worked, shut it off and felt his way through the darkness to the bed. For a long time, he clung to his side of the raised outer edge of the mattress, Peter to his, both awake and making sure they didn't touch each other. Later, as they both finally found sleep, they let go and rolled into the middle and each other, waking themselves up. But by four AM, the room was chill enough (and neither one of them wanted to get up and try to do battle with the furnace) that the warmth at each other's backs felt pretty good. Sleep finally arrived and stayed this time.

_WC WC WC_

The next morning Peter was up early and in the shower, where he evidently got the same blast of cold water that Neal did the night before judging by the words being yelled.

Neal smiled and got up, still wondering how he'd managed to sleep at all on such a bed. One thing; he was determined NOT to spend a second night at the Sleepy Head Inn.

They got themselves and their stuff together and checked out of the room. Heading for the garage, they checked on the Taurus – still waiting of the part to arrive – and had some breakfast at a sunny, pleasant place run by a middle aged woman and her two daughters. A lot of locals ate there as well and the place was full. Peter and Neal also discovered there was a great deal of curiosity about what they were doing there and several were more than willing to discuss the Jameson family, mostly in a negative light. It seemed the Jamesons had been disliked for a long time in the town.

After a simple but good breakfast that Peter enjoyed immensely, (Neal thought it adequate for the conditions) Peter went back to the garage while Neal caught a lift with a woman to the Holiday Inn Express at the edge of town. There, with a mixture of charm and a few omissions of the truth (Neal Caffrey, FBI agent, or so the desk clerk believed.) he was able to secure a room for them with a blessed two beds. A pleasant young woman whom Neal was able to dazzle with his smile, confided that the room in question was technically on hold since last night for three days but the people hadn't shown so what could she do? Nothing, Neal assured her and pulled out one of his many credit cards for a deposit. The government could pay the rest; he liked that part best.

Neal then rejoined Peter at the garage; the part was in and being installed. By early afternoon they were back on the winding road to the Jameson mansion.

They got the same rousing reception as the day before; bored disdain.

"My, you folks at the FBI must work very short hours," Jameson remarked, pointedly looking at his watch, an expensive Citizen. Wearing his customary sweater and brown pants, he looked ready to sit back in a wing chair and resume his scholarly studies – if he had any. Instead he struck a pose of the thinking man beside the unlit fireplace.

"We had some car problems," Peter said evenly, while Neal marveled at his partner's ability to absorb snubs. Of course, Peter usually got even later. "But we're ready to start now."

Bettina came down the stairs, today's outfit being khaki slacks and silk green shirt. "My, we'd almost given you up," she purred, slinking around Peter.

Her husband, who was almost an inch shorter than she was, appeared behind her. "I see you brought Caffrey back with you," he said unpleasantly. He wore dark trousers with a blue shirt and a white ascot.

Neal smiled brightly. "Good afternoon."

Daniel Wilde pointed two fingers at his eyes and then one at Neal. "Me. Watching. You."

Neal's smile got wider. "I'll give you my best side then."

Peter ignored all of the by play. "So, have you looked anywhere yourselves for this diamond?" He asked Jameson.

The tall man sniffed. "Certainly not. That's your job."

"You have no curiosity about where the diamond went?" Neal asked, ignoring Wilde, who stared intently at him.

Jameson shrugged. "I wasn't on good terms with Father for some time. I figured the old boy hid it away just to irritate me. I had no need to look for it until Father's passing. Then, with this silly will specifying that a FBI agent look for the stone, I am content to let you look. If you ever get started," he added bitingly.

"Helps to get the facts first before going in," Peter said evenly. He turned to Wilde. "What about you, crime interest guy? Done any searching?"

"Of course not. Uncle's will was very specific," Wilde said haughtily.

Bettina made a sound of disgust. "Well, I have looked and I'm honest enough to admit it."

"Where?" Neal asked with a charming smile.

"My room, Danny's room," she said slyly, causing Peter and Neal to exchange glances, "the front drawing room, and I started in the library but the books are old and full of cobwebs and spiders. So I quit." Bettina declared firmly.

Neal nodded. "Good to know." He left it vague however what it was that he found good.

"Why don't you start in the library?" Jameson said impatiently. "Do something besides grill us!"

Peter gave him a look that caused Jameson to glance away momentarily. As Peter turned to leave, he stopped in the doorway. "By the way, I thought it was just the three of you who lived here. But Mr. Caffrey here saw a man in your upstairs window last night. Who was that?"

Jameson stirred. "Nonsense. There's nobody up there." He turned to Neal. "Were you drinking?"

Neal opened his mouth but Peter answered. "I saw him too."

Bettina said nothing but smiled in a rather nasty way. Daniel looked at Jameson with a 'what will you do now?' look. "Perhaps it was a tramp; I don't know. Look, the top floor has been in disuse for several years now. I suppose it is possible some street bum got up there."

"Get a lot of bums out here, do you?" Peter asked blandly.

"Probably; certainly seems like a welcoming area," Neal put in.

"Oh, I can see that," Peter agreed amiably.

"Anyway, this bum would have to come down sometime, just to eat, if nothing else," Neal observed.

"Well, if there is someone up there, you'll have to arrest him or something," Jameson said angrily. "Get him out of there now!"

"Maybe you'd better get the Sheriff or the local law out here," Peter said with a surprisingly cold look. "I'm not the beat cop."

Jameson drew back affronted but Bettina laughed aloud and even Wilde snickered.

"Shall we get started?" Neal asked with a significant glance.

Peter was riled but kept his tone even. "After you."

As they walked away looking for the stairs, they heard a furious whispered argument behind them. "Wow! Talk about dysfunctional," Neal said softly. "Are we really going to the library first?"

"Hell, no. We'll go upstairs," his partner declared firmly. "They've probably already kicked over every rock and chair down here anyway. All the while**, not** looking for the diamond, of course."

Neal smiled. "That's my man; eternal distrust." After a pause, he asked, "What do you think of them?"

"You would bring us to the Addams Family," Peter observed tartly.

_**WC WC WC **_

They tried to go upstairs but instead found a hastily erected wall with an obviously new door literally blocking the steps up to the top floor, complete with a brand new padlock.

"Guess who ever is up there isn't going out soon?" Neal remarked.

Peter stood beside him, casting a critical eye over the stairs and door. "This situation doesn't add up. Those three vultures sit around downstairs, calmly waiting for someone else to find the diamond? No way. Then, they pretend there's no one upstairs but it's obvious someone has been here. If he's locked in, then he's being held captive against his will."

Neal glanced at him. "What do you want to do?" His fingers were itching; this Ace Hardware special wouldn't take him five seconds to open.

A noise behind them alerted the duo they were no longer alone. "I thought you were going to search the library?" Daniel Wilde asked in an aggrieved tone, still glaring at Neal.

Turning, Peter said mildly, "I'd like to start upstairs and work my way down. It would also clear up this question about an intruder up there. I would think you'd want that."

Wilde looked a bit off balance. "Look, I think you are barking up the wrong tree. This house is supposedly haunted but I am surprised that an FBI agent and a criminal," he glanced disdainfully at Neal, "would see ghosts the very first evening here."

"He looked pretty real to me," Neal said softly but there was no mistaking his resolute tone.

Peter shrugged. "Could get this straightened out right now. Let's get the key."

Seeing their expressions, Wilde snorted. "Oh, all right. I'll go get it. Will you be watching Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal didn't give anything away but Peter did. With ill-concealed annoyance, he snapped, "Yes. Let's get that key now, all right?"

Wilde stomped off in ill humor. Neal looked irritated. "So, when are you going to talk to him, see if his crime fighting expertise is up to yours?" Turning to Peter, he was a bit mystified to see Peter staring intently at him. "What?"

"Neal," Peter said in his 'I'm serious' voice, "I need to know you will behave yourself here. If I have to stand and watch you through all thirty five rooms, your sentence will be up and El will have divorced me. I know this would be ridiculously easy for you; these idiots wouldn't know anything was gone for at least five years but I want your word that you're not going to steal anything. Or get Mozzie out here. Or Alex. No tricks, no lies of omission."

Neal was affronted. "Do you really think I'd do that?"

"Yes," Peter said bluntly. "But it would be really, really easy. Not worthy of Neal Caffrey. It would be like stealing from the blind."

"Child psychology never works with me, Peter," Neal informed him airily.

"How about honesty then, just for a change," the agent countered.

Neal's mask slipped for a moment and some anger showed through. It was instantly covered up a moment later and Neal smiled broadly. "You do take all the fun out of everything," he complained.

Peter was not deterred. "Neal."

Sighing, Neal muttered, "Oh, all right."

_**WC WC WC**_

As it turned out, John Joseph Jameson IV had already left the house – and took the only padlock key with him, Daniel reported with some smugness. Peter thought of making an issue of it; Neal looked hopeful with the thought of picking the lock but the agent decided he'd better not push this. The legal ground might be murky at best. By the time he'd made the calls and filled out the forms, another day would be lost anyway, even though they had been invited in to search for the diamond. Still a sympathetic judge with a life outlook like Mozzie's could make life uncomfortable for the Bureau and they were already stretching a point with Neal present. Unfortunately, Peter was well aware of the fact this would give Jameson time to resolve the situation upstairs before they had a look. He almost ground his teeth in frustration.

Another matter that didn't help his outlook was the fact that the upstairs rooms were filthy, disused and full of junk. Keeping Neal within sight was going to ensure this job would indeed take forever and Hughes would have him busted down to file clerk by the time they returned. With great reluctance, Peter let Neal search the next room on his own. However, Daniel Wilde had never gone away and moved with Neal. Peter sighed; Neal could have stolen the entire art collection off the walls before Wilde would have noticed but he supposed it was better than nothing.

Peter was in yet another dusty, surprisingly dirty old bedroom, going through a chest of drawers when he became aware of someone else's presence behind him. A scent of perfume wafting through the air confirmed his suspicion.

"Found anything yet, Agent Burke?" Bettina drawled, leaning in a provocative pose against the doorway.

Peter glanced back but didn't stop searching. "No. But I don't think anybody's been up here for a long time."

Bettina sighed and entered the room, moving to stand next to him. "When I married Daniel, this family was on the decline then but still had some life. Johnny's father was a cantankerous old man but he was lots of fun. Something we don't have anymore," she added bitterly.

Peter had already read everything he could find about the family but if Bettina was offering more candid information it would be derelict in his duty not to pursue it. "What happened?"

Bettina shrugged and placed a hand on his arm. "Uncle John got increasingly eccentric and started playing the stock market very aggressively. He lost a fortune after 9/11. Several other rather shady investments to recoup after that just made things worse. Johnny is very bitter over it. Anyway, Uncle John got dementia at the end; most of the time when he talked it was to Aunt Ellen, who'd been gone since 1989," she said dismissively.

Peter gave the hand on his arm a significant glance but Bettina only smiled. "I'm surprised your husband wasn't able to head some of that off. He is an estate lawyer, isn't he?"

Bettina gave a delighted peal of laughter. "Oh, marvelous! You've studied us! Yes, Danny is an estate lawyer – when he works – but Uncle John never really liked him. The earlier will Danny drew up but Uncle John discarded that back in 1995. Said he didn't care if Johnny or Danny inherited anything. It was his money and he'd do as he wanted with it. Actually, the money was made by the first John Joseph Jameson; his son John the second increased the family fortune."

"Textiles, I read," Peter remarked, trying unsuccessfully to put some distance between them. Bettina moved with him.

Bettina shrugged. "Sweat shops."

Peter nodded. "I read that too."

Bettina chose the moment to place her hand on his bicep. "Ooh, you work out. Very nice. I suppose it helps when you have to subdue all those evil bad guys," she laughed and moved her body right next to his.

Peter made a point of raising his left hand as he removed Bettina's hand from his arm.

Seeing the wedding ring, Bettina scoffed, "That ring doesn't mean anything to me."

"It does to me," Peter replied quietly. He started searching through a closet. There was not enough space for Bettina, who pouted and then, to his infinite relief, left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

In the next room, Daniel Wilde was fastidiously brushing off some dust from his trousers that Neal had clumsily blown off an old and stained jewelry box. Wilde looked annoyed but continued his questioning. "I find it incredible that you and Burke work together now. Don't you hate him for catching you?"

"Peter? No," Neal said lightly, closing the lid on the disappointingly empty jewelry box. "Truth be told, I've always admired Peter. He's the best the FBI has and it took him quite a while to catch me," he added smugly.

Wilde continued to frown. "Come, come. You can't tell me there aren't times you'd like to get the drop on him, perhaps shoot him and make your getaway?"

Neal looked astonished. "Shoot Peter? Shoot anyone? That's not my style." This time, Neal frowned. "I thought you said you studied me. Obviously you didn't learn very much."

Wilde scoffed. "I read a lot of nonsense about you're being a nonviolent criminal who is unbelievably intelligent and talented in forging skills. But I've made a study of criminals; when push comes to shove, baser survival instincts take over. Kill or be killed. You know what I mean."

Neal stopped searching to stare at the man. "Well, it's never been that way with me. You have to be smarter than the other guy and then you can stay away from all those deep philosophical questions."

"Well, I find the Bureau to be remarkably close mouthed regarding their agents. One of my defense lawyer friends in New York knew a little about Agent Burke. He says the man can be arrogant and opinionated. My friend was not so sure he was all that smart."

Grinning, Neal asked, "Oh, did your friend lose his case?"

Daniel bristled. "Well, it was no great brilliance on Agent Burke's part, I assure you. The client was less than truthful with my friend. That was all."

"No doubt," Neal agreed easily.

"So, how many items have you found worth stealing?" Wilde asked with studied insolence.

"Very little; there's a lot of junk here," Neal retorted. Inwardly, he was getting irritated; his suit was dirty and Wilde wouldn't leave him alone.

Wilde stiffened. "I don't like your attitude."

Neal sighed. "I am surprised that you, with your crime solving skills, haven't already found this diamond. Or have you?"

"I don't answer to felons," Daniel retorted angrily. "I have made a protest to the FBI about Agent Burke bringing you here. I don't have to put up with your mouth either!"

There was a step in the doorway and Peter stood there, Bettina, having not gone far, behind him. "Everything okay in here?" Peter asked casually but his eyes were actively searching both Neal and Wilde's expressions and body languages.

Neal smiled widely. "Fine, Peter, just fine. Did you know Daniel here has researched us?"

Peter's face was neutral. "Oh, really?"

"He's afraid I'll shoot you," Neal added as an afterthought.

"Oooh, are you that dangerous?" Bettina asked with great anticipation, crowding in next to the agent.

Peter, however, didn't smile. "Mr. Caffrey is a nonviolent criminal. You have no worries."

"Oh, crumb." Bettina pouted.

Daniel turned a livid glare on his wife but she shrugged and walked on down the hallway. "Well, if you're here now to watch him, I'll leave. I'm not going to watch your back when you're so obviously neglectful of your own safety, Agent Burke."

"I thought you were watching so I didn't steal anything," Neal said, disappointed. "Now you're only here to protect Agent Burke?"

Peter gave Neal a 'stop it' look and addressed Daniel. "I assure you I do not need protection from Neal. You can relax on that front." Pausing, Peter asked, "I don't see any service people here. No hired help?"

"We have a housekeeper who comes in four days a week, along with a cook and two housemaids who come in on odd days. Unfortunately, that's all we can afford now days." Wilde added bitterly.

"I read from the earlier reports there was a butler and an earlier cook, both of whom retired in 2002. What happened to them?"

"Oh, you mean, Gomez and Mrs. Anderson? Well, Gomez died in 2008 and Mrs. Anderson is now in an assisted living facility in town. Why, do you think they took the diamond?" Wilde chuckled with the absurdity of it.

"What is your theory about the diamond? All this studying of the criminal mind, you must have some idea?" Peter inquired blandly.

"Well," Wilde visibly puffed up, "I am under the impression that perhaps Uncle mislaid it. He had gotten terribly forgetful through the years. I had thought to help if only to satisfy my love for puzzles but Uncle's will forbade even that."

"According to the will, you will receive one half of the estate after taxes," Peter said in a steady voice. "If the diamond is found, that would substantially increase your inheritance."

Neal perked up and gave Wilde an insolent grin. Daniel ignored him and asked coldly, "I take it you've read the will?"

"While we were having lunch yesterday. We didn't have that codicil part though," Neal said brightly.

"You let him read the will?" Wilde asked, aghast.

"It doesn't help to have half of the team in the dark while on a case," Peter replied.

Daniel Wilde shrugged. "Incredible. I suppose now we'll read all about it in the Globe or the Enquirer next week," he snapped, stalking off in the same direction his wife had left.

Peter and Neal exchanged amused glances and returned to the grimy business of going through closets, doors and searching for hidden panels. Excited and happy, Neal chattered nonstop while Peter remained outwardly stoic – and thoughtful.

_**WC WC WC**_

The room they had that night was light years better than the night before although it was a brand new building that still had some issues. A surprisingly cold wind blew through the ill-fitting window and Neal had to wait for forever to get some hot water in the shower but all in all, he was much happier tonight. The dinner hadn't been that great; Neal had chosen what was advertised as a French bistro but the cuisine had been more like Stouffers. Peter had groused through the meal but Neal put the best face on it and pretended to love it. Also, he made a note of some different places to try tomorrow because he knew he'd better not try French food on Peter again. They were limited options in the small seaside town, but Neal was determined to find some fine food somewhere.

When he emerged from the bathroom wearing his black silk pajama bottoms, Peter was on the phone. "Yeah, I got it. Think we'll pay her a visit tomorrow morning before we go out to the mansion." The agent chuckled ruefully. "The family is completely, totally weird. You're lucky you're out of it. How are things at the office? Good, good. Make sure Treasury knows that Radusky is back in town, all right? Oh, and call McLaughlin over at the SEC; he should know something about Everett Stocks, Inc. Yeah, I will. Oh, Neal says hello," He added with a pained look as Neal was saying Hi Diana continuously and waving his arms. "I really don't know, to be honest. This is going to take forever at this rate. I'll call Hughes in the morning and let him know about our progress – or lack of it. Yeah, you too. Talk to you tomorrow. Good night." Clicking the phone off, Peter leaned back against the bed head board, looking thoughtful.

Neal knew that look well. "What is it?"

"Something that Diana dug out," Peter said wearily, tugging off his tie. "Turns out JJJ model four had a son, JJJ model five."

"Really?" Neal's interest perked. "No wife or son around now though."

"They divorced in 1984, four years after JJJ V was born. Turns out there was a lot of tabloid chatter about it; JJJ's wife came from Newport old money."

"Oho," Neal said with obvious relish. "What happened to Mrs. JJJ and the son?"

"Hmm, sad there. The wife went back to Newport with a drug and alcohol problem, it seems. She died some years later on an overdose of sleeping pills."

"Wow, harsh," Neal said. "And the son?"

"JJJ V died in 2009 in a car accident. He hit someone head on." Peter's voice hardened, just a little. "Killed a woman and her daughter coming back from a trip to grandmothers. No sign of drugs or alcohol though." He added thoughtfully.

Neal made a sound of disgust. "This whole family is a worthless bunch of parasites, aren't they?"

Peter gave him a no shit look but moved on. "Turns out JJJ four was quite the philanderer in his youth; had three different mistresses at the time of the divorce trial. A lot of speculation that this cost JJJ three a lot of money at the time to get Junior out of the mess."

Neal considered. "So, maybe the family fortune started to erode before the old man's stock wanderings?"

Peter was thinking. "Looks like it. The Jameson fortunes have declined sharply since 1995. They're now living on the dividends of the few remaining blue chip stocks they own. It's not enough to keep up the palace of delight, as you have probably noticed."

Neal scowled. "The place is a pig sty! I've practically ruined my suit." He had not envisioned this kind of squalor on the road trip of his dreams and Neal was annoyed.

Peter grinned. "Sy Devore would be ashamed."

"Ha, ha. Your suit, which is better than your usual standard, meaning Elizabeth picked it out, isn't looking too great either."

Peter looked pained. "Yeah, I know I'll hear about that when I get home. This time I'd better not forget the dry cleaning," he added in a worried tone.

Neal flopped on his bed. "So what do you think of the Jameson family?"

"JJJ had a brief career as a stock broker; he abruptly 'retired' after a number of shady deals the SEC was beginning to look at."

"Beginning to?" Neal asked.

"With his departure, the investigation was cancelled. At a guess, I'd say JJJ III's money was in play, not with the SEC, but with the investors who lost money."

Neal whistled. "What about Daniel Wilde, crime fighter, and your friend Bettina?"

Peter looked annoyed. "Bettina is not my friend. And Daniel Wilde had a career only slightly longer than JJJ's. He drew up a few wills, got a couple challenged in court and lost. Suddenly he quit in order to write a book, or so said the article Jones dug up from a few years ago."

Neal pursed his lips. "No book though?" He smiled when Peter shook his head no. "Must be too busy. And Bettina?"

"Came from a wealthy family in Boston to marry Wilde. But her family has since hit the rocks financially; lost money in some risky third world investments and her mother is eccentric, to say the least. Dropped five grand last year on her poodle's sixth birthday party."

"Dog is woman's best friend too," Neal said thoughtfully. _He should have used that angle before on that rich, arrogant woman Moz fingered some years ago. Dogs were like the gold standard in the con game._

"So now she's stuck with Wilde." Peter was lost in his own thoughts. "Diana has found the address for the butler's only living child, Anna Gomez. As fate would have it, she lives right here in town, on Seaside Drive. Think we'll pay her a quick visit before we go crawling through the junk and dirt tomorrow."

"You think she knows something?" Neal inquired curiously, reluctantly pulling his thoughts back to the case.

Peter gave him a lopsided grin. "It won't hurt to ask."

_**WC WC WC **_

Anna Gomez's house was a plain, sturdy little clapboard that desperately needed paint on the corner lot of Seaside and Starfish. As he and Neal got out of the car, Peter noticed the house was run down, although it had been well cared for a number of years. But the constant exposure to the salt air and ocean storms were rotting the wood and the glass was old and grimy.

Neal, resplendent in another one of Byron's suits, (Peter restrained himself from making some inappropriate comment.) rang the bell. Nothing. Finally, he knocked on the door and someone stirred inside.

A plain looking, stocky, middle aged Hispanic woman answered the door. She looked immediately frightened when she saw two tall, officially dressed men on her porch.

As Peter introduced them, (mentally trying to recall Elizabeth's advice on how not to look intimidating) she visibly shrank back. Neal however, stepped into the breach, did some soothing talking and soon they were inside, sitting in an old fashioned front parlor.

The room was crammed with old furniture, knick knacks, magazines and religious statuary. Candles of the saints cluttered the entire room and a little shelf on the wall held more under a faded picture of Jesus. Rosary beads dangled from the shelf as well. The magazines were all about cooking and sewing. A huge, old sewing machine with a large basket dominated the corner of the room. The other side had a huge, elaborately carved china hutch filled with old dishes and some crystal. A chair in front of it however, made easy access difficult at best.

Anna Gomez had on a paisley patterned dress and she quickly put on a lacy white shawl over her shoulders.

"Did you make that yourself?" Neal asked gently. He too had observed the magazines.

"Yes," Anna said in small voice. Her eyes were round and frightened.

"Ms. Gomez, we are here looking into the matter of the missing Sanskara diamond-" Peter started.

"_Mon Dios_, I didn't take it," Anna burst out.

Making an extra effort to gentle his voice, Peter said, "I'm not here to accuse you, Ms. Gomez. Mr. Caffrey and I are searching the Jameson mansion looking for the diamond. We came to ask you for some information."

"Information?" Anna was clearly confused and still seemed terrified.

Neal took over. "Some background information on the family might come in useful," he assured the nervous woman with his most soothing voice. "We know your father was the butler to the Jameson family for many years."

Peter, in the meantime, had spotted a faded black and white picture of a young Hispanic man in an US Army uniform on the back wall. "Is that your dad?" He asked softly.

Anna followed his glance and suddenly smiled shyly. "Yes, it is. He was an Army ranger."

Peter took a close look. "Korea?"

"Yes," Anna said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "You are very observant, Agent Burke. Most people think it is World War II."

"By the look of the decorations on his chest, your father was a hero," Peter said, visibly impressed.

"He had a distinguished Army career. My Mother often wished he had stayed in the Army."

"What made him decide to leave? Other than the obvious reasons, of course." Neal asked.

"My mother was here with two small children, my brothers. She found it difficult to cope alone with them. Also, Papa could make more money here, working for the Jameson _familia._ He came back, at first to his old job of gardener, and then later he trained to be a butler under Mr. Rollins. Papa took over when Mr. Rollins retired and stayed there."

"Your father retired in 2002, we noticed," Peter remarked.

Anna smiled. "Yes, he did. My Papa was a proud man and he probably stayed too long on the job. But old Mr. Jameson had promised Papa he would always have a job at the mansion, no matter what. They kept trying to get him to retire but Papa would not do it. He said his replacement was 'not adequate' to the position. But finally, Papa had to. He had a heart attack in 2001 and the doctors said no more. Being stubborn, Papa stayed one more year but that was that."

"When you say 'old Mr. Jameson', did you mean Mr. Jameson the third?" Neal asked.

"Oh, no. Old Mr. Jameson is always Mr. Jameson the second. He was a fine man, very kind to Papa, Mama and me. His wife gave me wonderful Christmas presents when I was a child." She pointed to a beautiful porcelain doll in a yellowed lacy dress that perched above the china hutch. "Mrs. Helen gave that to me on my third birthday. Mama would not let me play with it; said it was too fine. Mrs. Helen laughed and gave me a Chatty Cathy doll as well, so I could have something to play with." Her eyes clouded over with obviously happy memories. "Those were such good years."

Peter, who was content to let Neal take over the questioning, had spotted something else that captured his attention. Almost hidden behind a stack of cookbooks was a faded color picture of two boys, both early teens by the look of them. "Are these your brothers?" he asked curiously.

Anna's happiness evaporated. "Yes," she said, looking down.

Neal and Peter exchanged a quick glance. Peter asked quietly, "What happened to them?"

"Luis died in Viet Nam, in combat. He was only twenty years old and wished to be like our father. Rafael quarreled with our father and went away to college. He never came back. It broke my mother's heart. He went into real estate and married, moving to Los Angeles, where he made a fortune. He got cancer two years ago and passed away last year. His wife only sent the funeral notice from the newspaper; nothing more. I have two nieces and a nephew that are now grown adults and I've never met them. Now, I never will." She dabbed at her eyes with a lavishly embroidered handkerchief.

"I'm very sorry," Neal said quietly.

Waiting a moment for the lady to compose herself, Peter asked, "What are your relations to the current family of Jamesons? Do you know them well?"

"No, not really." Anna Gomez stopped just short of crossing herself. "Mr. Jameson never really got on with Papa. He doesn't speak to me. And Daniel Wilde has always been…" she trailed off uncertainly.

Neal gave her an encouraging smile. "You can say it. We won't repeat it."

"Daniel Wilde has always been very mean to me," Anna burst out angrily. "He has always made fun of me, the way I look and my stupid, old fashioned ways," she said in a tone that indicated the last phrase was a direct quote. "And his wife laughs at me. She tells me constantly of new diets I should try. But usually she only speaks is when she needs some sewing done. Always it is 'right away'. She pretends to be busy but she is not." The lady broke off and blushed. "My manners are very bad. Would you gentlemen care for some coffee?" As Peter was about to say no and Neal yes, she added, "It is straight from Brazil. I have a sailor friend," the blush got even deeper, "who brings me things from his voyages. The beans really are very good."

Neal glanced at Peter, who looked at his watch. They were already later than he had intended. "That sounds great." _What the hell,_ he thought. He **needed** a good cup of coffee this morning.

Neal nodded his approval; he always relished these moments Peter gave in to the finer things. Anna smiled radiantly as she got up and moved into the tiny kitchen.

"


	5. Chapter 5

"Before you go upstairs, Mr. Wilde has a legal waiver for you both to sign," John Jameson informed them when they arrived.

Peter looked miffed. "Sorry?"

"Some legal documents absolving us from any liability should you or your little friend," Wilde said contemptuously of Neal, "injure yourselves in any way."

"The upper story and the attic have been in disuse for some time, gentlemen. The flooring is unsafe, among other things. I will not be sued by the federal government because you two have managed to fall through the ceiling!" Jameson stated firmly, resplendent today in a dark suit.

"The FBI will cover anything that might happen to us," Peter countered. "You do not need to worry."

"Pah!" Daniel exclaimed as he entered the room. "I have done some checking and it seems to be a murky matter there. Are you still technically on duty? And what is Mr. Caffrey's status, exactly? I do not want any last minute legal trickery occurring."

"There could be something for Moz in this," Neal hurriedly advised Peter, who ignored him.

"I'm sorry but I cannot sign any kind of document," Peter said firmly. "Nor can Mr. Caffrey."

"I suppose it's against the FBI code or something," Jameson said in a bored voice.

"Something like that," the agent agreed but there was no cordiality in Peter's voice.

"Well, then, I'm sorry but I cannot allow you to search the top then," Wilde retorted.

"Fine," Peter replied while pulling out his cell phone. "I'll just give my boss a call and tell him we're headed back." He could feel the protest building in Neal standing beside him but the young conman held his tongue.

"There is no cell phone reception in the house," Wilde said smugly. "You'll have to go outside."

Peter shrugged. "No problem."

As he moved to leave, Neal reluctantly with him, Jameson stopped him with an irritated wave. "All right. Then don't sign. But I swear, and Daniel will be my witness that if you two get hurt upstairs, you will be responsible for the damages, not I."

"Then you do want us to continue searching?" Peter asked blandly.

"At this rate, you might be finished by Christmas!" Jameson snapped.

"Fortunately, we have no plans yet for New Year's," Neal replied brightly.

_**WC WC WC **_

"Wow, what is that smell?" Neal choked, as they entered the top floor. Jameson had unlocked the door and left immediately. Significantly, Wilde had passed on keeping an eye on Neal today and refused to come up.

Peter coughed. "Man, that's bad."

A quick search through the floor (where some of the boards underneath their feet did give dangerously) revealed that someone had indeed been up there for some time, given the food wrappers, trash and rotting food left behind. A quick look confirmed Neal's suspicion that this was the room that the bearded man had stared out at them the first night. "Someone has been here. And hygiene isn't high on their list of things to do."

Peter glanced around. "Not even on the list, I'd say."

Neal frowned. "I suppose we'll have to go through all of this."

Shrugging, Peter remarked, "What better place to hide a diamond, in a garbage dump?" Glancing at his partner, he asked, "Besides, this is what you wanted, right?"

Neal glared. "Well, I didn't know it was going to be exploring a landfill!" Peter laughed and they both set to work. However, as the afternoon wore on, it got darker and darker. There didn't seem to be any electricity on the upper floor, or at least nothing worked. Peter decided to go downstairs and ask Jameson about the lights or give it up for the day. Neal, glancing out the windows, saw dark storm clouds rolling in off the ocean and also, by chance, Bettina, outside in the overrun garden. She had on a dark blue pantsuit with a white scarf and was laughing at something. Then, John Jameson stepped out from behind the hedge row and they suddenly embraced and kissed. Not taking his eyes off the couple, Neal called softly, "Peter?"

There was a sharp crack and a few choice words from the hallway.

"Peter!" Neal tore off from the window and into the hall, finding his partner swearing up a storm and pulling his left foot out of a jagged, splintered hole in the flooring. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Jameson wasn't lying about the floor. Be careful where you step, Neal. This section here is completely rotted."

After ascertaining that no real damage was done except a couple of splinters in Peter's sock and two long scrape marks on his ankle, Neal told him what he had observed from the window. They hurried back but Bettina and Jameson were gone.

"The family that plays together, stays together," Neal said impishly

Peter however, had his eyes on the storm clouds. "I think we'll quit for this evening. This looks like a bad storm coming in. Besides, I want to hear Jameson's explanation for this mess up here. If you get a chance to talk to Bettina, take it."

"Oh, I think Bettina likes you better than she likes me," Neal said humorously.

"I don't think Bettina's too fussy one way or the other," Peter shot back.

Once downstairs, they only saw Daniel Wilde, who said he had no idea what kind of condition the upper floor was in. According to him, Jameson was in town on business and Bettina had gone shopping. Peter and Neal said nothing and left.

On the drive back through the rain, Neal asked, "You didn't want to tell Danny Boy about his wife and Jameson?"

Peter concentrated on the road and sighed. "No. Not right now anyway. If Wilde were even halfway normal, well, it's a helluva thing to hear. Hey guy, your wife is running around with your cousin."

Neal was aghast. "You feel sorry for him?"

Peter smiled, although it was strained. "No, I didn't say that. Hard to feel sorry for a guy who works so hard at being a pain in the ass."

"But we wouldn't have gained anything and we would have tipped our hand that we know," Neal stated with some satisfaction. "Scary at how we think alike."

Peter glanced over at Neal, who smiled back. Peter looked slightly annoyed.

"Yes, it is," they said in unison.

_**WC WC WC**_

Neal Caffrey sat on the stone bench basking in the warm early afternoon sun. At one time this had been one of those maze type gardens but the hedges had long since overrun any sort of pattern and now it was an overgrown mess; choked with weeds. A nearby fountain sat forlornly cracked and filled with refuse, the cherub on top now pitted and weathered, almost unrecognizable.

Despite it all, Neal loved it.

A confirmed city man, he luxuriated in the quiet as a soft breeze rustled the trees and the birds sang. Truth be told, there was probably more than birds around; Daniel had derisively warned him about aggressive raccoons and opossum (as if Neal wouldn't know they were usually nocturnal) but he ignored the man and took his deli bought lunch outside today while the weather was nice. Neal did not feel like channeling his inner Moz right now and worry about every little noise. He simply wanted to enjoy this place of nature, something he was rarely around.

Simply put, Neal delighted in this place. All of it; the preposterously impractical, crumbling house and the overrun gardens. He longed to have the fountain repaired, fill it with crystal clear water and even try his hand at hedge clipping, trying to bring back an organized beauty to the chaos. He wondered vaguely how creative he could be with landscaping. The thought made him smile, especially if he should tell Peter about it. Who knew what Moz would say? But he knew he could do something with that cherub, at least. That poor thing deserved to be repaired and brought back to life.

He heard a soft voice nearby. Peter had finally located some decent cell phone reception and, judging by his tone and quiet laughter, he was talking to Elizabeth. Neal sighed in relief. If Peter got back into his wife's good books, this trip was going to be a whole lot easier.

They had a good day so far. After a decent night's sleep for a change, Neal suggested they wear jeans and tee shirts today. They'd only brought three suits apiece and between the rain the first night and the dirt of yesterday, they were both in bad shape, leaving only one for them to look presentable in. Peter had done the required grumbling about the Bureau's image and rules but ended up agreeing very quickly despite the concerns. Neal insisted on a quick drop off at the local dry cleaners, (another person grateful for the business) and they were promised to be ready that evening, which pleased him to no end.

Lost in thought, Neal heard a footfall in front of him and glanced up to see Daniel Wilde standing there. He immediately smiled brightly, although secretly a bit disconcerted to have his peace defiled. Moz was right about having one's _chi_ disturbed.

"I see you guys are true government employees. Coffee breaks, long lunches. And still no diamond. I'm beginning to think you boys are over hyped," Wilde said with a nasty smile.

"You seem like an action guy. I'm still surprised you haven't found it yourself," Neal

returned.

Wilde stiffened. "What are you implying, Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal held up his hands, the picture of innocence. "Nothing. Just given your keen interest in crime solving, I thought you might have some theories, that's all. But you do not. You said so before."

Daniel studied him intently. "You have a very smart mouth. I'm surprised nobody has shut it for you."

Neal smiled even wider. "They made have tried."

Wilde snorted and said, "I'm beginning to wonder about this almighty Agent Burke. But if he's dumb enough to be bamboozled by you, I don't think he's the man for the job here."

Neal shrugged. "Well, all you have to do is change the will. Of course, being an estate lawyer, you know how easy that is – and we're out of here. Believe me; Agent Burke would be very pleased. He does have more important things to do back in New York." Neal grinned. "But I don't."

Wilde flushed angrily. "I really don't see how you were a successful con man; yes, I've checked. I don't like you at all and I certainly would never allow you to charm me. I'd never be that stupid. But maybe you just stole from little old ladies who couldn't resist your blue eyes?"

The smile faded from Neal's face and an insolent look came into his eyes. "At least I had, shall we say, talents, to use," he said bitingly, well aware he was committing a cardinal sin, breaking a basic rule of the game; losing his temper.

Wilde scoffed, partially turned away and then whirled. Neal saw the blow coming, rose, and was easily getting out of the way when his right foot caught in some long dead entangled vines. His momentum already falling backwards, his ankle rolled up underneath him, sending shooting waves of agony up his leg. The stone bench behind him gave him a sharp jab in the back of the legs and Wilde completed the job by landing a solid blow to his face. The hit seemed to sting Wilde's hand as much as it hurt Neal. But the young con man collapsed in a heap, stunned.

Wilde looked down at him, fleeting surprise at his success replaced immediately by smugness. "And stay away from my wife," he added with appropriate menace as he strode away, the picture of manly man toughness. The vision was marred somewhat by the pink ascot and a white sweater with plaid golf pants he was wearing but obviously Wilde felt pretty good about himself, even as he surreptitiously rubbed his punching hand.

Watching through stinging eyes, Neal wondered what the hell had happened to his peaceful lunch break. He decided to regroup for a moment before rising. God, he didn't want to admit to Peter that Daniel Wilde got in a lucky punch.

Wondering where Peter had gotten to, Neal attempted to lever himself up. His ankle however, was throbbing and he could barely put any weight on it. The pain was intense for such a simple accident. The breeze, something that had been a gentle companion to his lunch, suddenly picked up into a fairly strong wind. It made an odd whistling noise through the overgrown hedges, making Neal realize just how isolated he was in the old maze. Laboriously, he had just made it to his knees gripping the stone bench when he caught sight over his shoulder someone rushing in behind him, gripping him under the arms and roughly pulling him to his feet. For an instant, Neal thought Peter had returned and he was going to protest being manhandled until he got a whiff of the person. Peter **never** smelled like that.

Suddenly Neal was punched in the back twice, very hard and his head was being forced down toward the stone bench with alarming speed. He barely managed to twist enough to avoid a full face smash; instead a corner of the bench caught his temple, instantly making him groggy.

Then Neal went airborne, thrown into the hedge, face first, like he was a small child.

Branches and thorns scratched him and he fell with a thud to the ground. Neal had a bleary impression of a huge man with a beard staring at him on the ground. Something however, seemed off; distorted. The figure started toward him again and Neal willed his body to get up and run but nothing happened. He watched dully as torn, stained tennis shoes moved closer at Neal's eye level. Then he heard what must surely be the voice of a distant angel. At least an FBI angel.

"Neal! Where are you?"

The voice was Peter and, judging by the sound, he was coming closer.

The bearded figure heard it also and moved away quickly. Neal's relief turned sour instantly; the man was moving toward Peter. He quickly moved out of Neal's sight.

"Peter!" God, his voice sounded pathetically weak and small. He tried again. "Peter, look out!"

There was a noise and then some cursing that sounded like Peter. Neal wanted to shout again but was fearful he might give away something. Painfully, Neal carefully made it to his feet, refraining from putting any weight on his ankle. Woozy, something ran into his eyes and he roughly swiped it away and listened intently to the wind, the only thing now making any sound.

Finally, Peter Burke stepped into the clearing, gun drawn. Neal nearly collapsed in relief. "Hey."

Peter blanched when he moved closer. "Dammit, Neal, what happened?" His eyes never stopped scanning the trees and the Glock stayed in his hand.

"I think it was what you called Cousin It," Neal said wearily. "Didn't you hear me? I tried to warn you."

"I heard you say something. Couldn't make it out though." Peter said, giving Neal a look. The younger man nodded, confirming they were alone. Peter then holstered the gun.

Neal scrubbed at his eyes again and noticing Peter's shocked look, belatedly realized it was blood flowing down his face. He raised questioning eyes at his partner.

Peter's face softened, as did his voice. "You look like you went face first there, buddy."

Neal sighed. "I did. But I want to state for the record that if I hadn't tripped I would have handled the situation." Peter looked openly doubtful but drew one of Neal's arms over his shoulders and gingerly helped Neal over to the bench, lowering him down to sit.

"What now?" Neal asked. His head was beginning to pound in rhythm with the throbbing of his ankle.

Peter paced in front of him, fuming as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd like to go have a long talk with JJJ," he muttered.

Neal, who was looking at the ground as tracking Peter pacing was making him dizzy, suddenly noted with dismay something dark and glistening on Peter's left shoe. Observing more closely, he realized Peter was limping slightly. "What happened to you?" Neal asked urgently, another worry on his mind.

Peter looked down and grimaced. "When I thought I heard your voice, I came running over here. Turns out there was a trip wire running through the weeds. Supporting one of the trees at one time, I guess. I got a little cut running across the top of my foot." He paused. "No explosions, though. That's a good thing."

Neal felt a surge of worry. The whole thing was spiraling out of control. Glancing at Peter's foot again, he was anything but reassured. "Little cut! Peter, its gushing blood!" The young con man was reeling; it wasn't supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be fun, leisurely and a great long lost diamond to be found at the end.

Peter sighed and stopped pacing. Bending down to study Neal at eye level, he said evenly, "It's not gushing. It's just a cut. But I think we'd better get you to a doctor."

Neal tried to rein in his breathing and project some calm. "No, it's all right. It's superficial. But," he faltered a bit. "Just tell me you did see something, someone, out there. You saw him, right?"

Peter sighed again; he knew this case was trouble from the start. "No, Neal, I didn't see him." Seeing his partner's crestfallen expression, he hastily added, "But I did hear someone. Someone out here running around. And I know he was watching me." Peter glanced over the garden's maze. He hated this spot. All of this gone to ruin; it was just creepy. Somebody needed to get in here with a decent chainsaw; do some good.

Neal was content with that, now that Peter was here. He let his partner deal with the logistics of getting him back; a long slow process as Neal was too heavy for Peter to carry except for the fireman's lift, which the young man resolutely refused.

They finally made it to the house where Neal waited on another bench outside while Peter went to bring the Taurus closer.

Aware of someone suddenly behind him, Neal glanced over his shoulder to find John Jameson IV staring at him with undisguised disdain. Taking no notice of Neal's bloody face and battered condition, he said scornfully, "I take it you're done for the day. Again."


	6. Chapter 6

"It's hard to believe you're not more concerned about an intruder running around in your house and on your land," Peter said firmly, after exchanging some sharp words with JJJ, when he arrived with the car. "This is the second incident we've had and we've only been here for a few days. It's incredible to think that you've never seen this person, nor any else in the house."

"I'm beginning to wonder if this person has something to do with you," John Jameson said hotly. "We had no problems before then."

"Or maybe you just weren't aware of them," Peter shot back.

"Agent Burke, I resent your tone," Jameson said pompously.

"I can't begin to tell you how many things I resent about you!"

Peter would have liked to hauled Jameson's ass down to the interrogation room at FBI HQ and do this properly. But seeing Neal leaning against the car with a dazed look caused him to break off and bid Jameson a curt goodbye. Daniel Wilde was nowhere in sight, nor was Bettina. Peter was incensed that Wilde had hit his CI. He always thought of his team as his extended family and an attack on one of them meant an attack on him personally. He didn't appreciate JJJ's cavalier attitude nor Wilde's insulting demeanor but Neal was hurting and virtually begging Peter to let it go with his eyes so Peter drove back to town, albeit in a foul mood.

Peter knew Neal well enough to realize that once he felt better his partner would hatch his own diabolical plan of revenge and then Peter would have to stop him from going too far. He sighed, wondering just how far he would/could let Neal go. It was an entertaining prospect.

First things first, though. They stopped at the hotel, after Neal adamantly refused any kind of Urgent Care. When Peter pressed him, he started making noises about the agent's foot, so Peter reluctantly let it go, hoping Neal didn't end up with a traumatic brain injury that would force him to fill out numerous forms and fend off lawsuit charges. Haversham, if he could leave the shadows long enough, would have a field day suing the FBI. Peter sighed; one thing after another on this whole damn trip.

After helping Neal into the hotel and startling the maid with their early arrival, the younger man went on inside and changed clothes. Peter was surprised he didn't have a velvet smoking jacket of some kind along – a real one, not a Moz construct. Peter stifled a grin as Neal made do with a pair of sweat pants that he purchased yesterday. The agent watched with concern as Neal hopped slowly around the room (refusing all offers of help, of course) before finally settling on the bed. Neal grew resentful of being watched and his pride was one of the things that had Neal so touchy and balky about medical help. Technically he should have taken the young man in as a precaution and to have medical evidence at hand in case JJJ and Wilde tried to pull something. But in truth, Peter suspected Neal was more scratched and cut than actually injured that badly, although the blow to the head worried him. But Neal was so stubborn on the subject, he gave in. He certainly understood a man's pride and it would be all over this small town in an hour that Daniel Wilde had beat up an FBI consultant.

Peter had rolled an ankle a time or two during his sports days and he knew just how Neal felt. It wasn't a horrible injury but it was painful. Knowing Neal was watching and just waiting to say **something**, Peter sat down and took off his own shoe and sock, cleaning the blood from his foot. It wasn't a deep cut but it had bled a lot and was probably going to be painful every time he flexed his foot. But Peter said nothing, did what he could, put his shoe back on and went out to get some ice. Upon his return, he doled out ibuprofen and elevated Neal's ankle on the extra pillows he'd procured from the housekeeper. Loosening his tie, he pulled out his laptop, changed the radio from the maid's Spanish station to a classical one (sighing again; he knew the Knicks played today) and worked quietly on his laptop until Neal finally relaxed from his vigil of 'I'm not going to be forced to go to Urgent Care' and fell asleep. In the meantime, Hughes called and Peter took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door in order not to disturb his partner.

Hughes was nearly apoplectic over the news, not the least of all was how long this was taking. He also gave Peter a stiff lecture about Neal and his penchant for trouble. Translation: Jameson had called to complain. Explaining Neal's mishap, Peter managed to carry the day when he described the young man's injuries and Jameson's casual nonchalance about the strange intruder, coupled with Wilde's taking a swing at Neal. He reassured Hughes that Neal would not sue the FBI for his injuries, although Peter left off speculating at what else Neal might do if given a chance. He also made a mental note to head off any calls to or from Mozzie. Reluctantly, Hughes gave in, although not without a number of admonishments for Peter on everything he could think of.

Afterwards it was quiet except for Neal's soft snores and Peter reviewing all the files he could get on the Jamesons. Looking over their financial records, Peter was reminded of the old Chinese proverb, 'wealth rarely survives three generations.' This certainly looked to be true with this weird bunch.

Peter also kept checking on Neal. Breathing good, ankle elevated. Neal slept deeply and never stirred. Peter got a call from Elizabeth later, so it was back to the bathroom again.

When he emerged from a delightfully long conversation (he kept peeking out periodically to check on his partner), Peter was surprised to find Neal awake although his expression was far from alert.

"You sure spend a lot of time in there," Neal complained muzzily.

"I couldn't think out here. You snore too loud," Peter joked.

"Did not." Neal stretched. "Talk to Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. She told me to tell you to stay out of hedgerows."

"Ha, ha," Neal replied in a grumpy voice. "What's next?"

"How do you feel?" Peter asked.

The younger man considered. "I'm really hungry."

Peter felt a wave of relief. If Neal was ready to eat, maybe he wasn't that badly injured.

"Do you feel like going out?"

"Yes."

Peter gave his partner a look of mock annoyance. "Hey, take your time if you like."

Neal was already changing clothes. "Decision made. Let's go."

They ended up at a local diner that was full of curious natives. Just in case word had spread, Neal made a big show of walking normally and making sure any and all knew he was just fine, irregardless of the scratches on his face or the bruises that showed. Peter rolled his eyes, finished his coffee and took Neal back to the hotel where the young man took a handful of ibuprofen and limped back to bed.

_**WC WC WC**_

"Where is Daniel Wilde?"

Neal stood back; Peter Burke in full agent mode was nothing he ever wanted to mess around with. The library seemed a lot smaller suddenly.

Bettina lounged nearby but wisely said nothing, looking curious.

John Joseph Jameson stood his ground but his eyes betrayed some nervousness, for the one few of the times since their arrival. "I really haven't seen him since yesterday. Bettina, have you seen him?"

The lady straightened her necklace. "No." She paused and then added in a flatly, "I'm so worried."

Peter exchanged glances with Neal. "Daniel Wilde assaulted Mr. Caffrey yesterday."

"Oh really?" Bettina looked impressed. "How very enterprising of Danny!"

"The only reason I'm not throwing his ass in jail is because Mr. Caffrey has refused to press charges," Peter snapped, backing up even Bettina for a moment. The agent however, addressed Jameson directly. "I'm tired of playing around here. You've got some mysterious intruder hanging around and you're not even concerned."

"I thought you were supposed to be looking for the diamond, not chasing phantoms!" Jameson muttered. "It seems to me your concerns are very mixed up."

Peter stepped closer; Jameson was still taller but he now looked worried. "This became my concern when this guy attacked Neal. This is my last time of asking. What do you know about this guy?"

For a moment, JJJ looked ready to argue. But suddenly he deflated, much like a balloon. "I really don't know; I've never seen him." Glancing at his shoes, he continued, "But he has frightened the maid once and Betts has seen him from a distance."

Both Peter and Neal turned their attention to the chic, well, dressed woman who was suddenly now 'Betts.' "I thought I saw somebody out in the garden one evening. At first I thought it was Johnny; I didn't have my contacts on," she said with a coy smile to Neal, who did not return it. Looking a bit flustered, Bettina continued. "I called out and he turned around" This time she shuddered. "It was going on dark but that face! He seemed, well, distorted, somehow. Disfigured maybe. I couldn't really see any details. He had a long beard and yelped something and ran off into the garden. I never saw him after that. I told both Johnny and Danny about it but they thought it was just a tramp and did nothing," she added with visible spite.

Peter pinned JJJ with a smoldering look. Men who didn't protect their women were an anathema to him. "Nothing?"

Jameson looked abashed. "I, um, talked to the Sheriff. We had some extra patrols by the house for a while but they spotted nothing." He shot a venomous glance at Bettina. "Some of us drink rather a lot; it's hard to tell what's reality and fantasy!"

Bettina gave him a cold smile but did not reply. Neal remained very quiet.

Peter drew a deep breath. "I'm going to lay it out for you, JJJ. Everybody's unhappy right now. You're unhappy; we haven't found the diamond. My boss is unhappy this is taking so long. I'm unhappy that Neal was attacked and I can't bring my team up here because of some quaint fear you have of publicity." He moved a bit closer to JJJ and stared him in the face. "I'm not fooling around anymore. If I find Neal or myself in a dangerous situation again out here, I am pulling the plug on this. I'll have half of the FBI personnel in the state of New York here by tomorrow morning. Do you understand that?"

JJJ tried to squirm away but found his way blocked when Neal moved in front of the hallway exit.

"Oh, all right," Jameson said in ill humor. "I'll speak to Daniel. There will be no more trouble from him. But I don't know what to do about this so called bearded apparition. I can't control him."

"If I meet up with him, I'll handle that," Peter said confidently. "If you see anything," his gaze also included Bettina, who gave him a smile, "let me know. Immediately."

Jameson didn't reply but Bettina smiled even more. "Oh, I know I will, Agent Burke," she purred.

Peter didn't bother to respond. They went upstairs, Neal hobbling on his bad ankle, to begin the day's search. "JJJ is lying, you know," the young man remarked.

"I know," Peter said grimly. "I'm just not sure how much he is lying. Some things or everything."

_**WC WC WC**_

They made good time today, going through several rooms with no interruptions. Unfortunately, however, they didn't find the Sanskara diamond either. Peter held his ire in check though as he kept a careful eye on Neal, who was using his injured ankle far more than he should have. Every time Peter settled him in a worn, dusty chair to do some small item searching, Neal was up again five minutes later spotting something else of interest. Incredibly, they had discovered some items of value, the last being a small oil painting by an obscure turn of the century American artist. Dated 1928, Neal nearly had a heart attack when he found it at the back of a closet where the mice had been in. By some miracle the painting wasn't too badly damaged but Peter had to forcefully remind Neal of his status in life to prevent him from going downstairs to confront the family. Neal sulked for a while and Peter decided to take possession of the painting just in case his partner gave in to temptation. They returned to work.

A short while later, Peter's thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Neal, whose face reflected his glee.

"Peter! Look at this! A secret passage!" Neal was shining with happiness as he reached behind a tall armoire and pushed something. A door swung open, with creaks and the squeal of unoiled hinges.

Choking a bit on the stale air, Peter hurried over to help shove the armoire out of the way and to catch Neal by the shirt collar. "Whoa there, hold on, Indiana! You don't even have a flashlight. Besides, you shouldn't be walking on that ankle."

That was a nonstarter and Peter knew it, even as Neal scoffed openly. "Yeah, right. And you shouldn't be walking around with that cut on your foot. However," he held up a hand to forestall the agent's irritable retort, "there is no way I'm going to let you go alone. Besides," he held up a small flashlight, "I'm ready."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that will do it. Might be able to see, oh, four inches in front of you. Here, take this," he said, handing over a small but powerful FBI mag light. "One other thing," he cautioned Neal, who was champing at the bit, bad ankle and all. "I go first."

"Oh, come on Peter. I found it first," Neal complained.

"Maybe your bearded friend is in there. You can have a reunion."

Neal frowned at Peter's blunt talk but reluctantly stood aside as his friend drew his Glock and went into the passageway first.

_**WC WC WC **_

The passage was dark, dank and mildewed. No spider webs to be disturbed but there were plenty of footprints in the dirt. Very big ones.

"Well, at least they're not the footprints of a small child," Peter muttered. He held the flashlight in his left hand and the gun in his right. He kept scanning and listening. Neal followed valiantly even though his irregular footsteps told Peter his ankle was hurting badly.

"Ha, ha, you read the Sign Of Four," Neal retorted. Peter said nothing but his partner glimpsed a smile lingering on the corners of his mouth.

Long, dark and claustrophobic, the hallway kept going up instead of down to the ground floor. They observed a couple of different branches leading off in different directions but they looked long disused so Peter decided to continue on their present course.

Peter rounded a blind corner and suddenly the air was alive with a thousand wings batting around him, dust flying everywhere. He cursed and ducked, shouting a muffled warning to Neal.

The agent heard his partner behind him, yelling, followed by indistinct sounds of revulsion and cursing. For a while, neither of them could do anything but duck and cover.

Finally, the storm passed and Peter cautiously peeked out. Behind him, huddled next to the wall, Neal asked shakily. "What the hell was that?"

"Bats," Peter confirmed. He attempted to right the ship and appear nonchalant. "No big deal. Just bats."

Neal looked skeptical as Peter assisted him to his feet. "Yeah, I saw how composed you were."

Peter felt affronted. "Well, you were screaming like a girl." He holstered the Glock and ignored Neal's sputtering. "Let's go."

They continued on, cautiously, through the musty darkness. Peter felt more than a little claustrophobic himself but gritted his teeth and kept moving, Neal right on his heels behind him.

Suddenly, Peter stopped, Neal plowing into his back. He held up a hand to silence Neal however and the younger man quieted immediately. Something, **someone**, was running away, judging by the sound.

The agent quickly pulled the Glock out and moved ahead. Then they heard a crash and a roar.

Peter ran forward, not bothering to tell Neal to stay behind. He wouldn't anyway, the agent knew from past experience. As they got closer however, Peter smelled something he had unfortunately encountered before.

Ahead, a door slammed somewhere ahead of them. Peter rounded a blind corner and stopped when he saw the source of the smell.

Immediately, Neal slammed into his back again. "Peter," he complained, "that's twice now. Why did you stop? And what is that smell? Oh God!" Neal backed away.

Checking ahead and seeing no one, Peter came back to look at the obviously dead for some time Daniel Wilde.

Wilde, still in yesterday's natty clothes, slumped against the wall, an expression of agony forever frozen on his face. Blood had streamed down his nose, mouth and even ears, congealing into a sticky mess. A crack of light shone dimly from an open, small door, recessed into the wall. Peter knelt down, observing the back of the head had been bashed in. Swearing, he holstered the Glock.

"Extremely dead?" Neal asked in a soft, shaky voice behind him.

"Extremely." Peter stepped back and Neal moved to his side as if pulled there by a magnet. Peter nearly stepped on him and sighed. He wished to hell Diana or Jones were here with him. Not that Neal was doing badly but murder was not on the Caffrey agenda. The young con man had a paper white look on his face and stayed as far away from the body as he could. "Why don't you go outside and call the local cops?" Peter suggested.

Neal looked scared but stubborn. "Oh no. No way am I leaving you here without backup."

Peter smiled, fleetingly. "I appreciate the thought but I think whoever was in here has left," he nodded toward the thin rail of light. A thought struck him. "Maybe you better be careful though."

Neal still looked mutinous but a final look at Wilde plus Peter's firm expression seemed to convince him. "All right. But keep your eyes open; be alert. I'll be back in five."

Peter stared at him. "Did you just give me the be careful speech?"

Neal swallowed, never taking his eyes off the body. "I might have."

Peter gave him a fond smile. "Look, I need you to go and get the troops moving. I'm staying here. I don't want this crime scene contaminated any more than it already has been."

Neal paused. He hated to leave Peter alone but finally gave in. He opened the door a bit more; a sliding affair that led to one of the debris filled bedrooms on the upper floors they'd already searched earlier.

Peter looked aghast. "How'd we miss that?"

Neal looked around. "I think this mammoth dresser must have been in front of it." He tried giving it a test shove; the dresser remained unmoved. "This is really heavy, Peter. Take a strong guy to move it."

Peter shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Just go. But do not take any chances; none. Clear?"

"Clear." Not inclined to argue this time, Neal left, moving fast.


	7. Chapter 7

Neal Caffrey sat outside, resting his throbbing ankle and watching the organized chaos around him. It seemed like most of the local law enforcement for two counties had turned out to view the body and sightsee the Jameson mansion. JJJ IV's worst nightmare came true when a local TV remote truck turned up later.

Peter was in the middle of everything, giving orders, directing traffic and chewing out some locals who didn't seem to know a thing about crime scene protocols.

In short, his partner was in his element.

In the middle of it all, Bettina Wilde arrived home.

Always a keen student of human nature, Neal observed her as the local sheriff approached her slowly.

Neal's perch on the Taurus served him well and he watched closely as Bettina seemed shocked and for once, oddly at a loss for words.

To her credit, she didn't suddenly turn into the grieving widow. But the lady did seem sincerely stunned by this turn of events.

While Bettina stood by in shock, another car rolled in and JJJ IV got out, his face a study in fury as he beheld the scene in front of him. Slamming the car door, JJJ was loudly demanding Agent Burke come out and explain all of this.

Neal knew Peter had gone back into the house and he wished again he could call his friend and warn him. If he lived here, Neal would take some of his loot and build a damn cell phone tower himself.

JJJ stormed inside, brushing aside the locals who had timidly approached him with looks of appeasement on their faces. Slowly, Neal eased off the car, his ankle swollen and aching. But he intended to go inside and watch the fireworks. And keep an eye on Peter's back if needed.

His cell rang before he'd gone more than three painful steps. Glancing at the screen, Neal saw, "FBI Main Switchboard" with a New York city area code. He promptly swallowed and considered his options. Deciding they were limited at best, he reluctantly answered, "This is Neal."

"Caffrey!" Reese Hughes barked. "What the hell's going on up there? I was in a meeting and got a message from Burke about a murder and now he's not answering. Dammit, what's happening?"

_This just keeps getting better,_ Neal thought. In short order he explained the murder of Daniel Wilde and concluded with, "Peter is in the house, sir. No cell phone reception inside. And no landline either, if Jameson is to be believed."

"Wonderful." Neal could almost hear Hughes grinding his teeth. "This has turned into a first class mess. Does Burke have any competent help up there?"

"So far just the locals, sir."

After a pause, Hughes continued. "Look, I'm going to send help. Jameson can be dammed. Tell Burke to call me as soon as he's able. Jones and Berrigan are nearly finished with the Gerhardt case; I'll see what can be done with them."

Neal smiled. "Yes, sir." _Help on the way, I hope. _This treasure hunt, which had turned into something else entirely since he'd burst in on the Burkes that morning, was now something sinister and evil.

_But he still wanted to find that diamond, damn it. _

_**WC WC WC**_

"Hey where are you going?" Neal demanded from his bed, foot elevated and resting comfortably until he saw his partner emerge from the bathroom clothed in a suit and looking every inch an FBI agent. He thought they were finally done for the night when they returned to the hotel.

"Going out to Ghouls' Rest," Peter quipped.

Neal started to get up. "Wait, I'll-"

"You're not going," Peter said calmly, straightening his tie.

"Peter!" Neal exploded. "You can't leave me here. Look, you need me."

The agent held up his hand. "Neal, your ankle is twice its normal size. I know you're hurting; I've seen you limping. I've got to go back. That guy Hughes sent out from the New Haven office is watching the crime scene. But until the lab team gets there, I want somebody to babysit that area. I don't trust Jameson not to try to strong arm the locals away if he thinks there's something he doesn't want anyone to see. Plus, he was hardly grief stricken to hear of Wilde's death. More like relief." Peter paused and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I really thought JJJ might take a swing at me this afternoon."

"All the more reason I need to be there," Neal said stubbornly. "I can watch your back."

Peter softened his tone. "Look, I know you could. But I need you to rest tonight, Neal. Tomorrow we're going to put a big push on and either find that damn diamond, find a murderer or give up and go home." At Neal's look of horror, Peter added defensively, "Well, I'd like to go home before El forgets what I look like."

Neal protested but Peter held firm and did not budge. The agent left and the con man lay on his bed, foot elevated, with aspirin and water within easy reach, courtesy of Peter. Neal left the television off, hoping for silence but instead heard every door bang in the hallway and every 'Honey, are you sure we have everything?' there was to hear.

Despite his intentions, he did doze off but was awake again by the time Peter returned around one AM. Neal felt inclined to sulk some more but he was more interested in hearing that Jameson was still throwing a fit, the lab team had finally arrived, did their job, and then left. Bettina was drinking heavily and the local law enforcement officers were more of a hindrance than a help. A weary looking Peter sat down on his bed, slipping off his jacket and tie before he lay back, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Neal gave him a exasperated look _(he should have been out there with Peter, dammit_) but awkwardly rose and, hopping on one foot, took off the agent's shoes and lifted his feet on the bed. Peter awoke a short time later, grumbled about everything in general and went to the bathroom to change and wash up. Neal was asleep before he ever came back out.

_**WC WC WC**_

"I have decided to challenge the will," John J. Jameson declared dramatically in the library where he had met Peter and Neal the next morning. "There is no longer any need for you and Mr. Caffrey to hang around." He punctuated this with a sneer at Neal.

"It's a little late for that, Mr. Jameson. There's been a murder here. Unfortunately for you, you can't just send everyone home because it's inconvenient. I know you want to find Mr. Wilde's killer and see justice done, don't you?" Peter asked with disarming earnestness but underneath was a studied insolence.

Neal stood back and admired his partner's work. For an honest guy, Peter Burke could get fairly snarky if need be. And pull it off while still looking like the All American Good Guy. Or All American FBI Badass agent. Take your pick.

Bettina sat in a nearby chair, sipping a bloody mary at nine a.m. Neal gave her a test smile but she did not respond and looked away. The lady looked gray and exhausted with reddened eyes.

"Naturally I want justice for my cousin's murder!" JJJ declared testily. "To be blunt, I haven't been too impressed with you, Agent Burke. You've bumbled around for days and you've found nothing. Your celebrated friend Caffrey has managed to trip over his own feet and injure himself. And all to no avail; neither of you have found the diamond nor can you seem to find this so called bearded phantom. Forgive me if I have no faith that you could solve a murder!"

Peter managed a tight lipped smile or perhaps a baring of teeth might be more accurate. "I do agree, Jameson. We have been here too long. That's why there will be more agents and FBI personnel here soon. We will need absolute cooperation from you and Mrs. Wilde. No more games, no more 'use the servants entrance' garbage from you."

"I will, of course, being calling your superiors about this!" JJJ snapped.

"Go ahead. I'm sure the number's on speed dial by now." Peter shot back tartly. "If you have a phone that works, that is!"

"You need to remove the phone jacks from the wall," Neal advised pleasantly. Just taking the phone out hasn't really fooled us."

JJJ glared at Peter, who left to go upstairs and then at Neal, who gave him a bright, happy smile, the kind that made people wonder about his sanity.

As Neal followed Peter upstairs, Bettina broke her silence and chuckled. From her facial expression though, she was anything but amused.

_**WC WC WC**_

They worked at a furious pace throughout the day, going through JJJ IV's bedroom, which Neal pronounced a pig sty, surprising for such a fastidious man, and Bettina's, which was much better though cluttered. Neal continued to fume at the careless waste of the faded splendors around them. First edition books with bent corners and torn pages. Painting and sculptures uncared for, with countless chips, scratches and cracks. Neal couldn't contain himself from time to time and lingered on some items, sensitive fingers touching the damage and figuring out how it could be repaired. Peter, although aware of Neal's need to touch and try to repair, gently reminded him that was not their focus here. He also hoped to hell that Neal could bring himself to leave the artwork to its fate, distasteful and tragic that may be.

After more frustration, they returned to JJJ III's bedroom, one they had searched before without success. But Peter felt it needed another look and Neal rapidly agreed. The room itself was like going back in time. Antique furnishings but none quite in the same state of disrepair in the other rooms except for the new, careless scratches. Everything however, was overturned today, including the mattress. Drawers were opened or upended on the floor. Neal sat down on an antique chair as he sorted through the mess left on the dresser, still making those occasional noises of dismay and disgust at some other damage. Peter searched through two huge dressers with ornate scrollwork and locking drawers, now of course opened and its contents dumped on the floor. Despite his words to Neal, the agent took some moments to admire the craftsmanship of the woodwork. At one time, Mystic or wherever, must have had some wonderful wood workers. He'd like to have something like this in their bedroom; El would love it.

Neal moved onto the closet. Clothes were still there, although most now lay in a tumbled heap on the floor. Neal whistled. "Oh, JJJ III had good taste. Look at these fedoras!"

Peter turned around ready to deliver the no touching speech when Neal reached under the center of the shelf of hats and pushed. A small door near the floor swung open, releasing cold, dank, stale air.

Peter groaned. "Not another one!"

Neal grinned. "It's the mystery of the second secret passage. Will Frank and Joe Hardy be able to solve it before their dad comes home?" With a brilliant smile, he hurried inside before Peter finished his eye roll or could stop him.

_**WC WC WC**_

The passage was dark, narrow and very old. It hadn't been used for a long time and Neal almost began to regret going first. _Well, almost._

Peter was behind him, softly cursing all the way. Neal had to crouch slightly under the low ceiling so he could well imagine his taller partner's discomfort. Suddenly the passage stopped and a series of ladder rungs stuck into the wall of in front of him. Shining his penlight up, Neal could see that it went very high up; perhaps to the top of the house.

Peter arrived behind him and shone his more powerful mag light upwards. "What the hell?" He gasped.

Neal grinned. "I think this is where they say onwards and upwards."

His partner looked annoyed. "Judging by the cobwebs, I'd say nobody's been up there in decades."

"Diamond's been gone for a long time," Neal reminded him.

"You'll get your clothes dirty," Peter countered.

Neal grimaced. "Yeah, thanks for insisting we had to go back into FBI mode."

Peter shrugged, unapologetic. "Could be other agents around. Have to keep up the Bureau standards."

Neal smiled and started up the ladder before Peter could stop him or go first. The agent muttered some choice words about wild goose chases and obsessed people and followed.

_**WC WC WC**_

As Neal climbed into the forbidding darkness, he could hear the wind blowing briskly outside the house. He remembered Peter remarking earlier there looked to be a storm out over the ocean and it was expected to come ashore. Judging by the sound, the storm had arrived. Neal carefully tested the metal rungs before committing his weight to the next ones. The rungs had rusted badly in the salty sea air and he was aware that Peter weighed more than he did. A fall from this height could be very unpleasant for either of them.

He heard the agent climbing behind him and smiled. Peter might snarl, growl and complain but Neal knew Peter would have his back, no matter what. It was a warm feeling of security that the younger man hadn't experienced that often. He liked it.

By now they had to be close to the attic; he could hear the sea smashing into the rocks nearby.

"Dammit, Neal, how much long-"

Hearing a muffled curse and rending metal, Neal stopped and looked down , horrified to see Peter hanging by his hands, half of a metal run having given way under his feet. With his long legs, the agent was able to reach a step further down and then bypass the broken rung. He clung there for a moment, exhaling in relief. "Damn," he said in a shaky voice.

Neal felt a little shaky himself. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm getting tired of this climb to Mount Everest though," Peter grumbled.

"We're almost there," Neal assured him.

Within a couple of minutes, the young man gingerly opened a door above his head. Dirt and dust showered down on him and he heard things sliding off as he gave the door a shove. Once it tried to come back down and hit him in the head but a second try netted Neal an open space as the door stayed open. He gratefully made his way up into the cluttered attic.

Peter followed, winded and not very pleased. "Great. Back where we started. Thanks for the workout, Neal."

Neal frowned and turned away to glance out the grimy window. Large, fat raindrops were beginning to pelt the window and the wind seemed to shake the old building even more up here.

Then he saw something.

Below the window that jutted out from the main roof there was a rusted gutter broken in half and choked with refuse. But among the dead leaves, twigs and dirt, something glinted.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Neal pried the rotted window open and had a leg over the sill, edging outside into the gathering storm.

Peter, having checked the door and discovering to his disgust that JJJ had locked it from the outside, turned to see his partner going on the roof in the middle of a rainstorm. "Neal!" He hissed. "What the hell are you doing? He didn't throw the goddamn diamond on the roof!"

"I think he did, Peter!" Neal called over his shoulder.

The roof was very steep and the shingles were rotted and loose. Neal edged down toward the gutter very carefully, keeping one hand hooked on the splintered window sill.

_Not quite_. He couldn't quite reach it. As the wind whipped around him, Neal confirmed his initial estimate. The gutter was about to go, hanging by a couple of badly rusted screws. Who knew where this mystery stone might end up if it fell. If it were a rhinestone, Peter would never let him hear the end of it. However, he couldn't just let this go. Neal cautiously let go of the sill, balancing carefully through the now steady rain.

His hand was grabbed immediately by an angry Peter Burke. "Are you completely insane?" He yelled over the wind.

"Peter, look! Right down there!' Neal pointed to the shiny object. "I can reach it."

The agent still looked angry but he didn't try to stop his partner and instead held onto Neal's hand as he leaned over by the object.

Neal carefully and slowly edged his way to the gutter, still holding onto Peter's hand as a lifeline. The pitched roof was extremely steep and he had to pause a moment to conquer the sudden vertigo. Then he knelt down and stretched out his hand. _Too short._

"Peter, let go! I can't reach it," Neal yelled back over his shoulder.

"No. No way!" Peter shouted back.

"Come on, Peter! I can do this. Let me go!"

They indulged in a silent battle of wills as the rain began falling in earnest. Then, looking like he'd prefer to hit Neal upside the head, Peter let go of Neal's hand.

Neal carefully leaned down and after a couple of tugs, pried loose a silver chain with some pearls and what looked to be a diamond set in between them.

Looking back at Peter, Neal held up his find, triumph warring with disappointment as he reached out for his partner's hand. "It's not the Sanskara!" he shouted into the wind.

The agent gave him a dirty look as he drew Neal back toward the window. "Great. Now get the hell back in here!"

Neal started to reply but as he looked up he saw something move behind Peter. Before he could shout a warning however something slammed into the agent from behind and suddenly Peter was falling out the window, throwing Neal off balance. His feet lost their traction on the rotting shingles that were now wet and even more slippery.

To his horror, Neal fell on the roof and started sliding to the edge, Peter right behind him. He grabbed for a handhold but there was nothing solid to grasp. One old iron pipe that jutted out from the roof broke off in his hand. Neal closed his eyes as his feet began to dangle in space, dirt and debris showering the ground below.

His fall was halted however as Peter caught his hand and, incredibly, hung on. Neal could see the agony on Peter's face as he struggled to keep hold of his partner and stop himself from sliding over the edge. For a moment, they could only stay there and gasp as the rain pelted them.

Neal tried to get his feet back up on the roof but trying to get enough lift without tearing Peter's arm out of its socket was difficult at best. Peter lurched forward again and they both slid a bit further.

"Peter, hang on! I'm going to get my legs back up here. Um, this is going to hurt," he added lamely. The agent scowled but couldn't reply; his whole being was concentrated on keeping both of them from falling.

With silent apology, Neal began to swing his legs as much as he could given Peter's situation. He hated to hear the agent's sharp groan of agony; the strain on one arm must be tremendous but Peter was bracing himself with his other hand, a precarious situation at best given the crumbling state of the roofing.

On the second try, Neal got his feet on the roof and with no small amount of struggling, got his body up as well, letting go of Peter's hand. Panting, he looked through the sheeting rain and uncomfortably close lightning to see the agent was hanging literally by his feet, which he had hooked on the window sill to stop himself and Neal from falling.

Neal secured a handhold on the bottom of the window and reached back for Peter, anchoring him with a hand as the agent laboriously unhooked his feet and turned around. Peter was a tall man and not as flexible as Neal, so it was a slow but careful process through the pouring rain. After a silent but brief 'you go first' debate, Neal, then Peter, crawled back through the window to the relative safety of the attic.

Although his neck, shoulder and arm felt like they were on fire, Peter drew his gun. "Somebody hit me from behind," he growled. "Did you see them?"

"Not really," Neal admitted. "I saw something move behind you and the next thing I knew you were joining me on the ledge."

Peter checked out the area but they were alone and still locked in. He came back, scowling in disgust. "Well, is that shiny thing you had to have real or what?"

Neal was already examining his treasure, having drawn it from his pants pocket where he'd hastily shoved it. "I think it is." He sighed. "But it's not the Sanskara though," he added in a tragic tone.

Peter gave him a dark look. "Oh, good. I didn't want this to end this soon." They regretfully headed for the ladder rungs and began the descent the same way they came up.


	8. Chapter 8

"You two are like little kids," Jameson said accusingly at the two soaking wet men who stood dripping in the library – again.

Peter, whose white shirt was ripped and dirty with the wet grime of the roof ground into it, said nothing. Neal, also looking fairly ragged in his blue suit, gave Jameson as cheeky grin. Only their suit jackets, which they taken off for the climb, still looked in good condition.

"Well, they haven't found **the** diamond but they did at least turn up this one." Bettina, well into the day's alcohol intake, drawled idly from the couch. She wore a lacy black ensemble that was hard to determine if it were a cocktail dress or lingerie.

"Maybe you should have started on the roof!" JJJ said bitingly. He held out his hand. "I'll find out if it's real or not," he announced dismissively.

"Oh, it's real," Neal with quiet confidence.

"How would you know?" JJJ asked condescendingly.

"It's his business, darling," Bettina replied. "Such as it is."

Peter had been surprisingly quiet but he spoke up now. "Any idea who this belongs to?"

"Well, some family member, of course," Jameson replied evasively.

"Johnny, isn't that the necklace your father gave Belinda for her birthday? Remember that Easter she got so angry at you she said she threw it out of the car. Said you were the worst husband in the world, as I recall. Certainly looks like that one," Bettina chattered on, seemingly unaware or uncaring of Jameson's growing wrath.

"Oh, nonsense. How would you know? I thought you were drunk by that time of day anyway?" JJJ said coldly.

Bettina raised her glass. "It helps to pass the time."

JJJ gave her a cold look but addressed his words to Peter. "Well, thanks for finding this trinket. I'll take care of it." He held out his hand. "I have an engagement tonight so I do need to dash."

"Sorry; no return. FBI evidence," Peter declared with some satisfaction.

"What? What sort of a swindle is this?"

"We were attacked up there in the attic today, Jameson. Right now, everything that pertains to this case is being logged as evidence."

"We don't have random attacks in our attic!" JJJ roared.

"I'm not sure you would know if you did or didn't!" Peter snapped.

Bettina laughed; a harsh, brittle sound that reverberated with bitterness. "Oh, Johnny might notice that!"

JJJ gave her a look of pure venom. "Why don't you go upstairs? If I'm lucky, this phantom will get you too!"

Bettina's rage boiled over. Rising, she flung her glass into the fireplace, heedless of where the tiny bits of glass landed.

"Oh, Mrs. Wilde?" Peter called after her as she went for the door, "don't leave town."

Bettina attempted a smile but it was more like a look of rictus. "If I couldn't get out before, I probably can't now either, Agent Burke!" All three men watched her storm out.

JJJ turned on Peter. "I suggest you leave now, yourself, Agent Burke. And take your larcenous little chum with you!"

Peter affected his blandest look. "Are you sure you'll be safe? Perhaps the locals can give you some protection? I'd hate for another tragedy to occur here," he added, sarcasm intended.

Furious, Jameson took a step toward Peter; automatically Neal moved closer to his friend.

Peter's eyes glittered dangerously with a come on smile on his face.

With an effort, JJJ tried to calm down. Smiling unpleasantly, he said, "Surely you'll be finished by tomorrow. Then you can return the one thing you did manage to find and get the hell out!"

Peter smiled back with the same shark like look. "Mister Jameson, you don't hire or fire the FBI like a maid or a gardener. We'll be around." Peter shouldered past Jameson without opposition.

Neal, unable to resist, lingered. He smiled brightly and said, "We'll see you tomorrow, bright and early."

As the young man left, Jameson scowled. "Damn idiots."

_**WC WC WC**_

Neal didn't have to be a trained FBI agent to see his partner was hurting. During the long, twisting road driving back, Peter kept wincing every time he had to turn the wheel. The way he held his head told Neal his neck was killing him. Finally, Neal asked, "Do you want me to drive?"

"Yes," Peter said simply.

The younger man resisted the urge to make the customary comments as Peter pulled off to the side and they changed places during yet another downpour. When Neal took over, he quietly asked, "What do you think is going on out there?"

Peter shifted, vainly trying to find a comfortable position. His arm, shoulders and neck were locking into unforgiving stiffness and they hurt like hell. "I'm not sure. They're obviously hiding something and sheltering whoever this is that lurks in the shadows."

Neal nodded approvingly. "Very poetic. Use that in the report."

Peter started to give Neal a glare but gave it up as too much effort. "I've got Diana doing some digging. Maybe she'll find something.

"Who do you suspect?" Neal persisted.

Peter smirked. "No speculation without data, Watson."

Scowling, Neal turned back to the stormy road. "Ha, ha." He paused and then added, "I suspect everybody."

Peter slouched back wearily in the seat. "You could be right."

When they reached the hotel, Neal went inside with the agent and generally made a nuisance of himself until Peter went to take a hot shower, which Neal had strongly suggested in the first place, just to get away.

Once the water started, Neal wrote a quick note and took off in the Taurus in the dark evening during a steady rain. His first stop was the Italian café they'd eaten at earlier during their stay. Neal spun out a moderately embellished tale of the brave FBI agent and his even braver consultant fighting evil. (He figured he could not be held responsible if the owners weren't really sure what a consultant was and assumed it was a different kind of agent.) Papa and Mama Tagliano were properly horrified, appalled, and thrilled and Neal could not have asked for a better audience. More importantly they promised to have two dinners of today's special ready to go by the time he returned.

Next, Neal went to the drugstore and replenished their dwindling medical supplies, adding a heating pad for Peter to the list. Neal's own ankle was reminding him he'd done a lot this day as well so he got the big bottle of ibuprofen.

Then he went to the local liquor store and haggled with the owner for a six pack of a better beer than they prominently displayed. Neal would have loved a decent bottle of wine but a quick perusal of the shelves indicated this was a waste of time. _How do some people exist? _He thought mournfully.

After a stop to fill the car with gas, Neal returned to the Taglianos to find they had everything ready. Papa had even thrown in a bottle of wine (not Neal's usual standard but drinkable) and Mama added dessert. Neal was genuinely touched; some days it surprised him that people did nice things because they wanted to, not because there was an advantage to be gained. It was still a novel concept to him.

When he arrived back at the hotel, Neal found Peter, who made sure to glare at him although it lacked his usual fire, lying on top of his bed, pillows propped up behind him. Wearing a shirt and sweats, hair still damp from the shower, Peter was on the phone. Judging by the lack of 'hons' and 'sirs', Neal decided he must be talking to Diana. Instantly grouchy, he hoped this wouldn't take forever; the delicious smell of the food was making him so hungry. Or he would just start on his own. Neal shed his jacket and shook off the water and hung it up with care. The storm was picking up outside and it was a great night to be in.

"Okay. So I'll see you maybe tomorrow night then? What, you get to fly to New London? Er, no, that's great. Very happy for you and Jones. No, nope, really, I don't care. Loved the drive." Neal raised his eyebrows; Peter ignored him. Softening his tone, he added, "I just want to get through this and get home before Elizabeth throws me out. So, see you tomorrow, if all goes well with Radusky? All right. Oh, don't forget to double check with NYPD on that bond dealer. The detective on that case is touchy." Neal rolled his eyes and determinedly set the aluminum containers out. "Oh, he's all right. Moderately behaving himself," Peter added with a chuckle. "Just be careful with Radusky though, okay? I don't want to come back to any problems. Yeah, I will too. Goodnight, Di."

Peter hung up the phone and watched as Neal limped around with food containers and wine and a plastic sack from Steele's Drug where he located the item he was looking for. "Um, what'cha doin?" He asked.

Now on the floor, Neal fought his way through the tangle of electrical cords, disconnected one and plugged in the heating pad. Laboriously heaving himself back up, he placed it on Peter's shoulder. "There. This will help, until you can get some stuff on it."

His partner shifted, in a casual manner. "It's not that bad." Moving again, this time back to the headboard, he grimaced. Catching Neal's look, Peter added irritably, "Okay, it's sore. But what is that? It smells great."

"Mama Tagliano's homemade lasagna," Neal handed Peter a container with a plastic fork. "We're eating in tonight."

As Peter began to take a real interest in his food, Neal held up the beer and the wine. "The Taglianos donated the wine; I bought the beer. Your choice."

Peter looked a bit uncomfortable. "Uh, Neal, you know we're not supposed to accept gifts-"

"You didn't; I did. Come on, Peter. My food is getting cold," Neal complained.

Thinking, Peter said, "I'll join you with the wine tonight." Catching sight of the label on the beer, he added hurriedly, "But put the beer in the tiny thing we call a refrigerator."

Neal smirked and proceeded to do just that.

They enjoyed a delicious meal, talked and listened to the wind and rain howl outside. Peter cleared away after noticing Neal was limping badly again. Then Elizabeth called and Neal doled out ibuprofen for both of them. After Peter talked to his wife, he tested Neal's patience channel flipping between basketball and a top marksmen contest. But between the food, wine, painkillers and warm heat on his neck and shoulders, Peter finally fell asleep. Neal sighed in relief, carefully slipped the remote from his partner's hand and turned it off, having pretuned the radio to an easy listening station. He turned it on softly, for nothing woke Peter up faster than silence. Neal then settled in himself, perusing a book he'd brought along; stories of insider trading and corruption on Wall Street. _One never knew when that might come in handy._

_**WC WC WC**_

The following morning Peter said he was okay but Neal noticed his partner didn't use his right arm for anything he didn't have to. Neal helped him put on the shoulder holster.

They were getting ready to leave when Peter's cell rang.

"Burke. Hey, Diana. No, I'm fine. Well, settle for all right then. Neal, of course, is fine." Neal gave him a wary look, uncertain if he was being teased. Peter listened for a bit, and then whistled. "Are you sure? This has been verified by our people? Wow. No, we'll still go today but tonight when you and Jones are here we'll do an all-out search. The locals here are a bit intimidated by the Jameson name, the older ones at any rate. And if they had any other incriminating evidence, they would have already moved it. Yeah. Good work on this. See you tonight." Peter clicked off the phone and said nothing, looking thoughtful.

Neal fidgeted. "This is no time to go mysterious on me, Peter. What's up?"

The agent turned with a serious expression. "It seems there's a good chance that Daniel Wilde was murdered by a dead man. DNA evidence indicates JJJ model V may have killed Wilde."

Neal blinked. "Is that possible? How is that possible?" Then he thought of Moz and his many IDs. And his own. Finding Peter looking at him strangely, he added hurriedly, "I mean somebody high profile has a lot more difficulty in disappearing successfully. Hearing about him, I can't see that guy knowing how to go off the grid."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Peter inquired innocently.

"Hey, I never 'killed' myself. Just made up some different names along the way." Thinking, Neal added, "It must have taken some significant money along the way to shut a lot of people's mouths. Wonder why?"

"I've got Diana digging into it." Peter tried to put on his jacket but a pained expression crossed his face before he could complete the task. Neal stepped forward and helped.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" The younger man asked cautiously.

His partner gave him a flinty look. "How's your ankle?"

Neal smiled. "Let's go."

_**WC WC WC**_

"Tell me about your son, Mr. Jameson," Peter asked firmly, standing in the front parlor of the crumbling mansion. Neal stood next to him, hands in pocket, radiating nonchalance.

Jameson gave them a startled look over his steaming china cup. "What are you talking about? My son is dead."

Bettina sat nearby, with her own china cup. Still in an ornate robe (hair and makeup perfect however) she looked up and Neal saw an unguarded look of concern on her face.

Peter sighed. "You have accused me of wasting your time on numerous occasions, Jameson. Now I find you wasting mine – again."

Jameson stiffened. "When you come in here with these painful lies and outlandish theories, you are wasting **my** time, Agent Burke!"

"I'll have the paper trail here by tonight. You can tell me now or you can waste my time. Then we can have a little chat about lying to a federal agent and the penalties that entail."

"You won't enjoy prison," Neal advised.

Jameson threw Bettina an inscrutable glance and suddenly sat down, looking weary. "Look, there's no criminal intent here. My son is as good as dead. The car wreck has left him mentally incapacitated; he has the mind of a child. I wanted to spare him being a target for the paparazzi and the cruel. There's very little left of the bright boy I watched grow up. I didn't want him singled out for mockery and cruelty by an ignorant bunch of dirty people who love to feed on scandals and tragedies of the wealthy. Johnny Jr. will never be a productive adult. It's kinder to leave him where he is; presumed dead and left in peace."

"Just for the record, where is your son?" Peter asked quietly.

"Living quietly at a home near New Haven. I visit every week. He doesn't live here."

Turning to the woman, Peter asked Bettina, "Did you know about this?"

Startled, Bettina looked a bit like a deer in the headlights but, with an effort, recovered. "Yes, I did. I go see him fairly often. He was a delightful boy; it's such a sad experience visiting him now."

"You do realize that fraudulently reporting a death is illegal, don't you?"

Jameson shrugged. "So I'll pay a fine. Big deal."

Peter looked steely eyed. "It could be more than that."

Jameson stood up. "I'll do what I must to protect my son."

"Well, this wasn't my idea," Bettina said abruptly, standing as well.

"All the same, you did participate in the deception," Peter insisted.

Bettina paled, just a bit. "I'm getting dressed. Conversation is rather boring here today."

"Just don't leave the country," Peter advised. Turning to Jameson, he said, "Oh, almost forgot. You have any recent pictures of little John?"

Jameson stared at him, with a well, duh expression on his face. "No, Agent Burke. I do not. John is a hideous looking mess. Traumatic head injuries are gruesome. I don't need pictures of that"

Peter and Neal exchanged glances; JJJ went outside. "Don't plan any extended vacations, Jameson," the agent called after him. The tall man gave him an icy look, and moved on.

"You enjoyed that," Neal said with a smile.

Peter grinned. "I did." He pulled out his phone and headed outside. "Now I'll just make a quick call to confirm John model V is indeed home.

_**WC WC WC**_

The call to the New Haven care home finally did confirm that John Jameson V had been present under an assumed name for some time but now had left the facility, after some equivocating from the administrator and some tough FBI talk from Peter. Neal could tell that his partner was dissatisfied with the answers he received, as he called Diana right away. She promised to get back to them as soon as possible. Back in the house, both Jameson and Bettina seemed to have disappeared although a quick check revealed both expensive sports cars in the garage.

The customary late afternoon/early evening storm was rolling in as Peter and Neal returned to JJJ III's room. They had searched here twice before of course, but Peter decided to take one more look. They'd now been through the entire house and still no diamond. _This will look great on the record,_ Peter privately groused. With a house this size and two people to search plus two very un-cooperative residents, a murder and a small object like a diamond hidden, it was little wonder they had failed.

But the very word – **failed** – did not sit well.

Neal was hobbling badly again but would not give up so Peter made him go downstairs and check the whereabouts of Jameson and Bettina. The young man was also going to phone Diana and get an estimated arrival time. It was more walking than Neal should be doing but Peter had planned on meeting him downstairs before he could return, despite whatever protests might be made. If left to his own devices, Neal would be up here all night. Peter decided to head off that kind of dedication, (he really didn't want to analyze any motive behind it too deeply) before Neal could no longer walk at all. Standing in the doorway, Peter chose to go one more time through this room and then back to the hotel to regroup and await reinforcements.

Peter rechecked some areas that Neal had searched, not because of his customary distrust of Neal and precious objects but this time, out of sheer frustration. His gut told him they had missed something and this room seemed the logical place to try again. He went through the chest of drawers, the closet and the nightstand; still nothing. The agent moved on, giving the nightstand drawer a gentle shove to close it. A picture with a silver frame lay on its side; a gray haired man with the Jameson features stood beside a gray haired lady, both dressed formally. JJJ III and his wife, no doubt. The glass was cracked in the frame; somebody had thrown it down or slammed it. Peter shook his head and moved on. Family love ran pretty shallow here.

Pausing at the ornate chest of drawers, massive and heavy, Peter grimaced when he saw the fresh scratches and gouges in the beautiful mahogany wood. _Some people were too stupid to appreciate craftsmanship, _he seethed. He and Neal were not responsible for this and he had to protect them from any sort of accusation that Jameson might come up with later. Running his hand over the wood and the little Ionic columns carved on each drawer and down the sides, Peter could not help but admire the ornate scrollwork at the base. A second glance revealed a join line in the wood where none was really needed. Frowning, Peter decided to take a closer look.

Getting gingerly down on his knees as his neck, shoulder and arm were really sore this morning, he ran his hands underneath and toward the back. Then, his fingertips felt a slight bump behind the rounded scrollwork on the foot of the side closest to the wall. Peter grinned. Probably a waste of time but a hell of a lot more entertaining than anything else had been lately. He had to work at it for nearly two minutes until a small chunk of wood popped off, already precut, in his hand. A paper fluttered to the dusty floor.

_Paper. Naturally, no damn diamond. _

The paper had been there for a while but there was no discernible yellowing. Plus, it was good, stiff, heavy paper; no cheap stuff. Unfolding it, Peter read.

_**You will never find the diamond. You ruined this family; now I ruin you.**_

Squatting on his heels, Peter whistled softly. Somehow he could understand the writer's feelings; especially if this was JJJ model IV he was referring to.

As he carefully refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket, it suddenly struck him Neal should have been back by now, despite Peter's good intentions of meeting him downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Neal, irritated that Peter had noticed his limping, (he had stepped wrong out of the shower that morning, aggravating the injury) stomped downstairs (in order to show Peter it didn't hurt) to the first floor, furiously thinking of ways to convince his partner to allow them to stay longer when Bettina emerged from the living room. "Well, hello, sweetie pie. You cub scouts found the diamond yet?"

Neal stiffened at her tone but smiled back. "No, not yet. I'm beginning to think somebody got to it first."

"Really?" Bettina said, striding to the corner bar in the library. Getting a glass down, she remarked, "If I were a suspicious person, I'd be wondering about you, sweet cheeks. I mean, you're the one with the record here, you know. Not to be indelicate to mention it, of course." She held up another glass.

Shaking his head no, Neal replied, "I know your late husband thought the same. Not to be insensitive, of course."

Bettina actually flinched, just a bit. "You are a bastard, aren't you?"

"Oh," Neal affected his most concerned look. "I am so sorry. But to tell the truth, I really wasn't sure how much you are grieving. Or maybe you're just really stoic."

"I don't have to explain anything to you, you cheap punk!" Bettina snapped, slamming down her glass on the bar. "Where's your leash holder, anyway? Shouldn't he be here to make you sit, stay and beg?"

"Ah," Neal smiled ingratiatingly, "and here I thought you wanted to be friends."

Bettina shrugged. "You're a pretty thing, there's no doubt about that. But I couldn't take you out in public, dearie. Not with your background. Every time a silver spoon went missing, people would talk – and look at you."

Neal's eyes glinted coldly but his expression never wavered from blandly pleasant. "You're right. I just wouldn't fit in with all those honest working people." He noted with satisfaction the way the woman's face hardened with anger. "However, I came down to find out if JJJ has returned yet?"

A recessed section of the wall that held a couple of built in decorative shelves swung open noiselessly behind Neal. Turning, he saw John Jameson step out, a deadly looking shotgun in his hand. "I'm right here, Caffrey."

_**WC WC WC**_

"So, where is my diamond, you thieving little bastard?" JJJ hissed.

Bettina threw him a look. "**Our **diamond, John. We agreed to share," she corrected. "Especially after Danny's tragic accident." Her tone was icy.

Jameson ignored her, keeping the gun leveled at Neal. "One other question: is Burke in this with you or is he just a stooge?"

Neal had raised his hands when JJJ jabbed the gun at him but, despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but smile. "Oh, please be sure and tell Peter you think he's my stooge. He'll really get a chuckle out of that."

JJJ strode over and clouted Neal on the side of the head with the gun butt, never changing expression. The conman staggered down to one knee, seeing stars. He put a hand up to his face, grimacing when he saw blood on it. _Again? This is ridiculous!_

"I'm not joking around here, you fool!" Jameson hissed. "This whole thing has been the final insult of my senile old father. The joke has stopped now, right here. I'm not about to let some punk thief and his stupid FBI handler take what's mine. I know you must have it by now; I've been watching. Give it here!" Shifting the gun to one hand, he suddenly struck Neal a savage blow to the stomach.

On his knees, wheezing, Neal muttered, "You work it out."

Bettina laughed. "Isn't he just darling?"

JJJ raised the gun. "He'll be just as darling dead, Betts."

"Drop it, Jameson. Right now I'll take any excuse you want to give me to fire."

Agent Peter Burke stood in the doorway, gun leveled at John Jameson with a cold light in his eyes.

JJJ carefully lowered the gun to the floor. "Agent Burke, we found this man pilfering our possessions!"

Looking at Neal's bloodied head, Peter got very angry. "Yeah, I see you took action. And now I'll take some. Raise your hands and turn around. You too, Bettina. Now!"

Neal stayed kneeling on the floor, gasping for air, the world spinning dizzily as Peter brought out his handcuffs.

Suddenly another bookcase in the wall swung open and a huge man with a disfigured face and filthy clothes charged in the room, taking aim at Peter, whose back was to that section. The agent was turning when he heard the noise but the bearded man slammed into him first, ramming his injured shoulder into the wall. There was a sharp muffled groan from Peter and the big man pinned him with a large hand on his throat. His left hand easily encircled Peter's right wrist and slammed it repeatedly into the wall, finally forcing Peter to drop the Glock in the process.

The big man proceeded to pummel the agent with hard blows to the face and midsection. Peter fought back for a while and did sting the man with a few sharp punches. But the bearded man shook off the pain and went back to slugging Peter, whose blows were grower weaker. Finally he hung limp against the man's left hand holding him up as the right continued to rain blows down on the agent.

Neal was galvanized into action when he saw blood coming from Peter's mouth, nose and a cut above one eye. He leapt on the huge man's back, tightening his arms around the man's neck and squeezing hard as he could. At first, Neal feared he was having no effect but the big man finally roared and swatted ineffectually behind him. Neal shrugged off the blows and tightened even more.

He could hear JJJ IV bellowing in the background and Bettina also began to stir. The big man finally dropped Peter, who slid bonelessly to the floor, bleeding profusely. Neal, enraged, gripped even harder. He could hear the voices of Vincent Adler, Mozzie and even Peter in his mind, telling him not to lose his head, but at this point Neal didn't care about playing the percentages or keeping cool. He only knew that sometime during his fantasy treasure hunt everything had turned into life and death. From his peripheral vision he could see Jameson watching with a self-satisfied smile. Bettina, however, looked a bit jumpy and strangely smug, seeing the battle unfold in front of her.

Neal felt the man scratch furiously at his back and neck, seeking to get some hold. Unfortunately, he came up with Neal's jacket collar and clutching that tightly, managed to get enough leverage to suddenly grasp Neal and toss him over his shoulder. The young man landed hard on the floor, winded, and close to Peter, who wasn't moving. Crawling over to his partner, Neal, gasping for air, tried to shake Peter awake. In his desperation, he even grabbed the bad shoulder but Peter still didn't move.

"Johnny! Take care of Mr. Caffrey. He's about to have a tragic accident off the seaside cliff path." John Joseph Jameson IV regained the shotgun and held it on Neal as he barked orders to what must be left of his son, John Joseph Jameson V. The younger Jameson, whose bearded face was disfigured to the point of hideousness, reached down and effortlessly picked up Neal by the collar and held him with an arm painfully wrenched up behind his back. "When you finish, you can come back for Agent Burke and do the same. It will be a horrible story, how an FBI agent and his confidential consultant fell off a treacherous path in the dark. They had a falling out over their larcenous plans and, chasing each other in the dark, they lost their footing."

Bettina shrugged. "A bit melodramatic, Johnny."

"You want to explain their bodies?" John suddenly grinned, salaciously. "I understand Burke is married," he addressed Neal. "How tragic for his wife. Is she pretty?" JJJ had a repulsive light of interest in his eyes. "Perhaps I could comfort her in her loss."

Bettina rolled her eyes. Neal wanted to smack the man for his leering inquiry about Elizabeth but was unable to move. "She's way out of your league, Jameson," he wheezed.

Bettina however, had no problem communicating. "Oh, this is just fine, John. You go off and kill a low rent criminal (despite his pounding head and throbbing arm, Neal looked insulted) and an FBI agent and for what? We still don't have the damn diamond, you moron! And Junior here has been a loose cannon from the start, and he was bad back then. You let him out and he killed Danny, just because he could never control his temper, before or after the accident."

"That isn't my fault," John Jr. said defensively. "You weren't too upset with the idea of half of share, compared to trying to get some money out of Daniel. I only meant for John Jr. to scare him; he just doesn't know his own strength, that's all." He gestured at Peter on the floor. "This guy is supposed to be the FBI's best and brightest! If he's the best, no wonder crime is out of control in this country! He and this… person," John sputtered when he looked at Neal, who was blinking and trying to come up with a plan, "have pawed through this house for days and found nothing. They're pathetic!" A crafty look came over JJJ's face. "Or they have taken the diamond for themselves!"

Jameson's loud voice must have penetrated Peter's haze of pain, because the agent groaned. Neal looked on hopefully. Bettina snapped, "You'd better get a move on, oaf. The other one will be awake before your son's knuckles can drag the ground fast enough to get this one out!"

"Don't you speak to my son that way, you harlot! You only married into this family for the money and you were bitterly disappointed when you discovered there wasn't any!"

Bettina gave him an insolent look. "Well, it certainly wasn't for the sex!"

John colored an ugly shade of red. "You bitch!" He strode over and slapped her.

Bettina staggered and suddenly produced a gun out of her dress pocket. A tiny little derringer type but deadly at the close range. "I've wanted to do this for a long time, you bastard!" She pulled the trigger and John IV suddenly fell back with a bloody hole in his chest.

"Why, you ungrateful slut," Jameson slurred. "You were nothing without us. You…." Despite the look of hatred on his face, John Jameson IV could not go on. With a final shuddering breath, he subsided, eyes still open, staring at Bettina Wilde.

"Taking everything is even better than half share," Bettina said with great satisfaction to the unmoving body on the floor. She looked like she could barely restrain herself from kicking the man who was now a corpse. "You were always so ashamed of your son. You wouldn't get any plastic surgery for him after the accident. And he always was a psychotic idiot!" She hissed in a low voice at the newly deceased John Jameson IV.

John model V as Peter had christened him, released Neal, shrieking his rage. He rushed to fall on the floor beside his father, sobbing, "Daddy!" over and over.

Bettina watched, unimpressed. "I've wanted to be free of you and Danny for so long," she said venomously, still staring at the man who no longer was breathing. "You two, still living like kings on yesterday's memories! The things I had to do just to get my share; you were disgusting! I hate you both, now and forever!"

Neal, stunned by this sudden turn of events, took the opportunity to jostle Peter again. "Peter! Peter, wake up!" He had never dreamed his diamond hunt would include two murders – and maybe two more. He should have conned their way out of this, instead of demanding he and Peter be involved.

Peter did move his legs and groaned. Neal took his own shirt tail out and wiped the blood away from his friend's eye. "Peter, I need you!"

John V finally rose to his feet, rage on his face, facing Bettina. The lady however, instantly schooled her features from disgust to grieving. Even Neal had to reluctantly agree the mask was well done. "Oh, Johnny! What are we going to do? I didn't mean to shoot your Father! Not really; I was trying to fool these two. But now that FBI guy," she pointed to Peter, "will arrest us. We've got to get away from here before they throw you in jail again. You remember jail, don't you? Remember how terrible they were? Right before the accident, when that stupid woman said you attacked her. They locked you away, wouldn't give you any of your favorite foods and made fun of you! Called you the rich boy who was worthless! You don't want to go back there again! Let's just get rid of these two and we'll run away together. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Remember when you used to chase me around the house? We could do that again. But these two have to go. That young man is a friend of the FBI man. He is mad that you hurt his friend. He will stop us from going away together; he'll talk and we'll never see each other again. You have to take him outside. Get rid of him, just like you tried to do with that cat years ago. Remember? The cat who used to yowl all right and you caught him and tried to throw him off the cliff? Well, this one will try and scratch and fight you too. But this time you'll win, Johnny. Then, you'll come back and get this man who hit you and throw him off as well. You and I will go away together and they'll never find us again!" Bettina began to edge her frilly dress down her shoulder and smiled. A special smile that made John Jr. seem very happy as his eyes tracked down her body.

Neal shook Peter again, who stirred and struggled to open his eyes. Johnny lumbered toward them, a light of lust and rage in his tortured eyes. Neal stood up and backed away. "Hey, man. You know she isn't going away with you. I'll bet this isn't the first time she promised to, is it?" He was gratified to see the giant stop uncertainly at his words. "You see, she told my friend and I she would go with us as well. She lies, Johnny. She thinks you're too stupid to know it. But you can figure it out, can't you?"

In confusion, the giant turned to Bettina. She managed to coax some tears. "Oh, Johnny, you know I couldn't go with you before. That mean Danny, who used to tease you so badly, wouldn't let me. But Danny's dead now and he," she pointed at Peter, "forced me to shoot and I hit your Dad instead of him. You know I could never shoot straight. And sometimes your father just made me so angry! Remember how he used to make you so mad? But we can't let anyone stop us this time; not the FBI man or his friend. Only you listening to that young man's lies can mess everything up. Johnny, you know this man is a criminal, don't you? He lies for a living. Just goes around stealing people's things and telling lies. You should make him pay!"

Johnny lumbered toward Neal, who backed away uneasily. "Hey, remember she just said she hated your father! Right before she killed him."

"He's twisting my words, Johnny. He's lying again, to save himself and his friend. But you know better, don't you, Johnny?" Bettina licked her lips provocatively. "I've always been your friend, even when your father wasn't."

John V, in his dirty and bedraggled clothes, thought for a moment. It was obviously a painful process and Neal didn't know whether to be repulsed or feel pity. Johnny however, decided for him. Turning to Neal, he roared and charged, like the bull seeing the proverbial red flag.

"Liar!" He screamed.

Neal moved away from Peter, for fear they would step on him, and braced himself for the attack. The room was too cluttered to run. Besides, he would never leave Peter here alone and unprotected. Neal landed a blow on Johnny's ear – he was aiming for the eye but the force of the big man's charge forced his blow to land awry. He kept on punching but it was like striking rock; hard and unmoving. His hands hurt but the big man was unfazed. Soon Johnny was holding him by the throat, shaking him like a rat. The force of it rattled Neal's teeth. He tried to yell for Peter but nothing came out except agonized wheezing. He had the horrifying vision of Daniel Wilde in his head: was this how he died? And how badly had this giant, pathetic soul injured Peter? Neal had no time for careful deliberation however as Johnny threw him against the wall, picked him up roughly and threw him again. He landed a savage right hand to Neal's face and the conman felt his vision blur. Everything hurt so badly. Egged on by Bettina, Johnny approached again and Neal's stomach contracted in fear. He edged away but his legs were shaky at best. Reaching out, Johnny effortlessly snagged Neal by the arm and then locked around his throat again.

Finally, a voice Neal had been praying to hear spoke out, weaker than normal but still clear. "Stop it, Johnny. Let him go now!"

With a snarl, Johnny dropped the stunned Neal to the floor and turned to face a bloodied but furious FBI agent. Peter looked like he'd lost the war, but the Glock was back in his hand and his aim was steady. "I don't want to shoot, Johnny but I will. Now back off and put your hands in the air!" Risking a quick glance around, Peter looked startled to see John Jameson IV lying on the floor in a growing puddle of blood.

Immediately hiding her gun behind her back, Bettina said disinterestedly, "He has handcuffs, Johnny. He'll put them on you. Remember how you hated that when the Sheriff took you away that first time?"

With a roar of rage, Johnny at first stepped toward Peter, keeping the agent's attention on him. Peter glanced at Bettina but John V turned to Neal and reached down to yank the young man off the floor by his hair, turning to lock his hands around Neal's throat once again.

The Glock boomed painfully loud in the room and, with a shocked look, Johnny dropped Neal and turned toward Peter, clutching his shoulder and taking a shaky step. Peter held the gun steady, ready to shoot again at a moment's notice. "Come on; give it up. There's nowhere to go now."

Johnny staggered, eyes rolling back in his head, making pitiful moaning sounds, fell in a graceless heap.

For a split second there was silence. Neal tried to speak but still couldn't breathe properly. He tried pointing but Bettina quickly brought her gun forward and, snapped a quick shot at Peter. The agent had caught sight of the movement but pain slowed his reflexes and Bettina's gun went off first. Peter clutched his left arm, doubled over, his arm burning. Bettina fired again and this time Peter's right arm jerked and the Glock fell to the floor. The agent crashed to his knees, stunned, hurting and both arms bleeding.

The woman blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of her derringer and smiled. "Didn't even know I had a gun, did you, Super-Agent Burke?" She sighted the gun again as Peter struggled to reach his own gun and stay conscious. But Bettina held him at bay, sighting her gun right at his chest. "What's that line? Feel lucky?" She circled around the agent like a predator eying its prey. "You know, we could have had a few nights of fun together. But no; you are piously faithful to your wife. It really is quite sickening," she added, eyes never leaving Peter.

Peter knelt on the floor, uncertain of how he ended up there. Everything hurt like hell and his arms felt like they were on fire. His gun was so close, yet so far away. He glanced up at the woman who had stopped in front of him, holding her gun directly in front of him. "If you think I'd ever step down from my wife for you, you are delusional," he muttered, gathering his failing strength to make one last charge. Peter knew the odds were against him, big time. _I'm sorry, El. _

A groggy Neal observed his worst nightmare in front of him. He knew that look on Peter's face and any other time he'd back his play without question. But Peter had too many strikes against him already to make a suicidal leap into a yet another gunshot wound. Besides, Elizabeth would be grief stricken. Diana would be homicidal. Jones would disapprove. Moz would scoff but yet manage to convey disappointment that Neal hadn't done **something.**

And Neal Caffrey would be unable to live with himself, ever again.

Gathering every ounce of his strength, Neal suddenly sprang up from the floor and threw himself on the Bettina, who had continued to taunt his partner. She struggled, cursed and tried to rake his face with her nails but Neal overpowered her, forcing her to drop the gun by slamming her hand against a wooden table. He was so angry he couldn't care less if he'd broken her hand. He gratefully heard Peter's voice behind him. "Neal, can you hold her still?"

It was like trying to hold a wild cat but Neal, who saw everything in a red haze of rage, held on none too gently while Peter struggled to put the handcuffs on her left wrist, and then pulled her right arm over to a large table. "Drop her over here, Neal."

"Gladly," Neal replied and let go with a hard shove. Bettina fell to the floor where Neal pinned her; Peter snagged her right arm and locked the handcuff on it. The woman was now cuffed around a massive wooden table leg at an awkward angle, hands behind her. It would be impossible for her to lift the table enough to free herself, although neither Peter nor Neal were inclined to leave her alone to test the theory.

"You think you're so damn smart," Bettina hissed. "Well, how do you think it will look in the press, FBI hotshot? You just shot a mentally challenged man! I'll make sure they crucify you."

Neal turned to his partner, neither of them particularly steady on their feet. "Are you all right?"

Peter, who, along with having both arms bleeding and burning, was also having trouble seeing, gave his partner a sidelong look, laced with irony. "Oh, fine. How are you?" He asked formally.

"Doing well, thank you" Neal replied blithely, swabbing blood out of his own eye.

Bettina paused for a moment. "You two really are idiots!"

Peter gave a weary sigh. "After a day like this, I might even agree. But I'm in a bad mood right now because I really don't like being shot!" he added venomously.

Neal affected the philosophical approach. "However, we are not handcuffed to a table, so we're okay in the big scheme of things."

"When my lawyer gets done with you two, we'll see, you smart ass!" Bettina hissed, pulling her arms against the cuffs and the table leg. Despite her best intentions, an involuntary Ow came out of her mouth.

Peter painfully pulled out his cell phone and cursed. "It's broken."

Neal produced his and smiled when he observed it intact. "I'm all right."

"Go outside and call 911," Peter ordered. They heard Johnny shift behind them and softly moan. "Make it fast!"

Neal hated leaving Peter alone with these two, hesitated. "Are you sure you've got this?"

Peter weaved a bit but kept the gun steady, keeping a close watch on Johnny, who was pretty much out of it but beginning to twitch a bit. "I've got this." He paused, looking and feeling awful. Peter could not even begin to list what hurt the most. "Just hurry, Neal."

Neal sprinted as fast as his throbbing as his aching body would allow.

The local authorities made good time and arrived at the Jameson mansion within thirty minutes.

Neal had rushed back inside to help with guard duty in the meantime. John Jameson V had awakened, but was very confused by events and especially by Bettina screaming at him to free her. He did not move when Peter ordered him to stay put but both Peter and Neal were relieved when the local sheriff turned up to take over the crime scene. Bettina was unceremoniously hauled off to jail, threatening everyone in sight with a lawsuit. This time, however, the locals seemed unmoved.

An ambulance showed up next, transporting John Jameson V under armed guard to the local hospital. Another ambulance appeared within five minutes of the first and this time Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey, both worse for wear, left the Jameson mansion, where law enforcement officials, coroner's office personnel and news media people milled around outside. Neal sat beside the gurney Peter was laying on, being attended to by an EMT, and looked out the ambulance window at the spotlights, vehicles and people running in and out. Sure enough, a news helicopter arrived and started circling overhead with a huge spotlight shining down, illuminating the old mansion. John Jameson IV would be appalled and furious. Neal felt very smugly righteous just thinking about it.

"You okay?" A gray looking Peter inquired, grimacing as the EMT treated his right arm, having finished with his left. He felt he should be a lot more irritated than he was but right now everything just took so much effort. _God, he was tired._

Neal attempted a smile but even that hurt. "Just thinking about JJJ IV and how mad he would be if he could see the place now."

Peter's eyes were very heavy but the corners of his mouth lifted, just a little. "Yeah. Gives me a warm feeling just thinking about it," he said in a thick voice.

Neal did smile this time. "Me too."


	10. Chapter 10

It was very late – or early, depending on your point of view, when Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones arrived at the hospital to find Peter asleep in a hospital bed with Neal in a similar condition on a chair beside him, head pillowed on his arms on the bed.

Diana grimaced. "That does not look remotely comfortable," she whispered to Jones.

Jones grinned. "Here I thought you were going to say how angelic Caffrey looks when he's asleep."

Diana gave him a tart look. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Moving closer, Jones gave a shudder. "They look like they've gone ten rounds with Ali and Frazier! There are bruises on bruises here."

They were being quiet but Neal opened his eyes and looked blearily around. "Took you long enough," he accused them in a sleep slurred voice.

"Hard time finding you two," Jones replied with a smile at the young man's disheveled look. _If only Neal could see himself now._

Diana moved closer to take a look at Peter, who did not stir. "He going to be all right?"

Neal struggled to sit up straight. Rubbing his eyes, he answered, "Of course. He's Peter. Doctor says he'll be fine. Don't worry about waking him up; he's got some good drugs."

Jones grinned. "I think you've got some of the same stuff there, buddy."

"Why are you still here, Neal? Are you a patient too?" Diana asked, brow furrowed in concern.

"Me? Naw. Me and Peter stick together in a crisis, you know." Neal paused for a moment. "Besides, there was nobody to give me a ride back to the hotel. But I wasn't leaving anyway."

This time Diana smiled. "Why don't you take Tonto here to the hotel, Jones, and-"

"Nope. Staying here. With Peter." Neal insisted, not realizing his case was being undermined by his obvious state of exhaustion, bruises, and his difficulty in moving around. Not to mention a pain killer induced mental haze that was readily apparent to all except him.

"I'll stay with Peter," Diana insisted but her voice was soft. "I promised Elizabeth a call as soon as I saw him anyway. She was already packing but couldn't find a flight out here this late. You two get some rest."

Jones gave a wobbly, protesting Neal a hand up. "We'll call you later." They left, Jones supporting Neal, who was still sputtering that he wasn't leaving.

As Diana settled into the chair Neal had vacated, she could hear Jones telling the young man that back at the jail, Bettina Wilde had not stopped threatening lawsuits or cursing everybody yet. She smiled slightly and looked down at Peter, who was sleeping peacefully, a mass of bruises and bandages. "You'll be happy to know all those politicians who were delighted to accept Jameson money in years gone by are no longer accepting phone calls from Mrs. Wilde, boss." Pulling out her phone, she waited a second, and then said, "Elizabeth? I'm here with him, now."

_**WC WC WC**_

"Are you sure about this, Peter?" Clinton Jones asked as he switched off the car's engine.

Beside him in the front seat, Peter Burke shifted uncomfortably, one arm in a sling and another with thick, itchy bandaging. He had the same bruises and general mauling Neal suffered from but he had been extremely lucky. His right arm was through and through wound and his left was a fairly deep graze. "No, I'm not. But this is our final out; I'd rather go down swinging than just stand and look at strike three." Peter knew Neal would catch on the moment they went inside. He just hoped he wasn't about to make a major fool of himself. One hysterical woman at the jail threatening lawsuits was enough right now; Peter didn't need a second. Hughes wouldn't like it at all.

"Baseball metaphors," Neal advised Diana, who sat in the back with him. "Getting serious now."

"Let's do it," Diana said, getting out. She opened the front door for Peter and gave him a hand out, while Jones did the same for Neal on the other side.

Going up to the front door, Jones went to press the doorbell but both Peter and Neal said simultaneously, "Doesn't work." Giving the two a look, Jones muttered, "You two can be spooky sometimes."

After a moment, Anna Gomez answered. "Agent Burke, what are you-" she broke off at the sight of them. "Oh, my goodness! What happened?"

"May we come in, Ms. Gomez? These two are FBI agents as well; Agents Jones and Berrigan."

Her face a mix of fear and uncertainty, Anna opened the door wider, "Er, yes. Come in."

As they entered the crowded parlor, Peter weaved on his feet ever so slightly and Jones pulled out a chair for him immediately. Peter sank down gratefully. His head was full of drug induced mush but it didn't stop shooting pains from striking him full force.

Neal spotted the reason they were there the moment he entered the room, being so obvious that Peter finally had to clear his throat – loudly – to get his attention. "Ms. Gomez, I can get a search warrant if I have to but it would look much better if you would just volunteer it." Peter hoped she wouldn't call his bluff on this; he had the flimsiest excuse ever to try for a warrant.

"Volunteer?" Anna asked timidly.

Neal smiled triumphantly at Peter but addressed the woman. "The diamond, Anna."

"I don't have it," Anna said uneasily.

Looking around at the statues and the candles, Neal said gently, "Are you sure you want to stick with that story?"

Peter looked irritated that Neal had beaten him to the punch but said nothing. Diana stood beside Peter, looking curious but wary. Jones was watchful but stayed silent.

Finally Anna bowed her head. "You may look. But I did not take it."

Neal looked at Peter, who tried to shrug but it hurt too much. "Go ahead."

Going right to the china hutch, Neal motioned Jones over and together they began to examine the exterior. "Same woodwork as the furniture in Jameson Senior's bedroom," he told a mystified Jones.

"Try the bottom," Peter suggested. At his side, Diana gave him a glance but Peter only smiled back, in a self- satisfied way, not wanting to show doubt. _Let the damn thing be there, please._

Jones actually found the piece first and, with an effort, popped out a chunk of wood from the scrolled foot of the hutch. A small black velvet bag fell out, which Neal pounced on.

Opening it with trembling fingers, Neal shook out a medium sized diamond on a silver chain, whose cold fire immediately flashed in the sunlight streaming in the window. For a moment, it was breathtaking.

Immediately producing a jeweler's eyepiece, (which drew a pained reaction from Peter) Neal examined the piece "This is it. The Sanskara diamond," he pronounced with satisfaction, holding up the brilliant stone. As Neal continued to handle the diamond reverently, Jones stood by, glancing at Peter, who rolled his eyes. Jones then started making several significant noises as Neal held the stone up to the light, turning it this way and that with rapt attention. Clinton Jones finally whistled and very reluctantly, Neal handed him the diamond. Jones looked at it for a moment, and then carefully handed to Peter, who gave it a cursory look, curiously disappointed. After all they went through, it was still just a rock to him. Pretty to look at, but that was it. Seemed a bit anticlimactic. Diana took it from him, as reaching for anything right now was painful for the senior agent. To his surprise, Diana looked at it longer than Peter thought she ever would. She became aware of her boss's scrutiny and shrugged with a small smile. Neal continued to stare at the stone with unbroken concentration, which was disturbing. Diana held out her hand for the black bag and Neal slowly handed it to her. To Peter's relief, she placed the diamond back in the bag and Neal finally tore his eyes away.

Returning to business, Peter addressed Anna. "Do you want to tell us the story, Ms. Gomez? Or wait for legal counsel?"

Anna sighed. "I knew nothing good would ever come of this," she muttered, heaving herself out of the chair she had settled in. Rummaging around in her considerable knick knacks, she produced a small wooden box made of mahogany.

Peter gave a start. "That's the same wood."

"Yes," Anna replied, still digging. "There was an old man here in town who did fine woodworking. He made a bedroom set and a dining room set for old Mr. Jameson several years ago."

"Old Mr. Jameson is JJJ model two," Neal enlightened Jones and Diana.

Jones snorted. "Good to know." He thumbed his nose, giving serious thought to skipping a Clinton Jones IV in the family. Too confusing.

"When old Mr. Jameson passed away, Mr. Jameson III gave Papa the dining room set. The table and chairs were too big for our house, so we sold them. But Mama loved the hutch, so we kept that." Search completed, she handed over a sealed envelope to Peter.

Peter had trouble handling it with one semi functional hand so Diana took the envelope and opened it. Peter nodded and she began to read aloud.

_**My Darling Meha,**_

_**I know you wondered what I was doing down here that night when I told you to go to bed so harshly. If you are reading this, now you will know why, for I am dead. **_

_**I know sooner or later that fool John Jameson IV will come looking for the Sanskara Diamond. You must never give it to him. It is the express wish of his father and myself, for I am the one who brought the diamond into the family. During the war in Korea, I met a very wealthy British couple who had foolishly allowed themselves to be caught up in the battle. It was one of those things that should never happen but sometimes does in war. In short, they were desperate to get out of the country and for some reason, they did not wish to go through customs. I was young, meha, and hungry for money and adventure. They gave me the Sanskara diamond in return for two seats out on a cargo plane. They did not say how they had come by it and I did not ask. I merely took the diamond. When I returned home with it, I, of course, confided in old Mr. Jameson, who told me it might look bad if I, a lowly Mexican servant, somehow acquired a world famous diamond. Questions would be asked. I immediately realized my predicament. Old Mr. Jameson bought the diamond from me; it paid for this house and the college education of the worthless Raphael. After the British couple was never heard of again, he decided to announce his son, John Jameson III, brought back the diamond from Korea. As you know, he served as well – behind the lines. I've often had my differences with John III but in our old age, we have found some common ground. One is despising his son, John IV. So we made a pact some years ago and John III gave me back the diamond, making me swear I would never allow John IV to have it. I have hidden it in the bottom compartment of the hutch, Anna. I am old now and I fear I must leave this legacy to you, meha. Do not give the diamond back to the Jamesons. Throw it in the ocean if you must. It is very bitter to me to leave you with so little inheritance, for you have the same problem as I did with the diamond. If you claim it, the Jamesons will say you stole it. But never let them have it back. **_

_**Your loving Papacita**_

_**PS (9/2004) Mr. Jameson has added a security precaution as he has noticed John IV creeping about in his room and searching through his things. The diamond will be considered lost or stolen. If that happens, a young FBI Agent will probably come looking for it. It is legally ours, meha, but if it becomes too difficult, then give the diamond to him, if you have no other choice. Never to any Jamesons though. Ever.**_

"I was tempted, Agent Burke," Anna Gomez said in a small voice, looking down. "I really did want to tell you. But Papa's last instructions…., Oh, I didn't know what to do!" She said, blowing her nose noisily and waving her hands in distress.

Diana looked a bit put out by the histrionics but Peter shook his head at her scowl. "Did you know that John Jameson V is still alive?" Peter asked gently.

"_Madre de Dios_, no!" Anna said fearfully, crossing herself. "He is a horrible man, the worst of the lot. Why is he not dead?" She asked in real disappointment.

"His father concealed the fact he is alive. After some digging, we found out it was probably to avoid a massive lawsuit concerning the accident he was injured in. He tested positive for drugs and was way over the alcohol legal limit," Diana informed Peter and Neal as well as Anna. "It took some persuading though to convince some of the locals that continuing to cover this up was unadvisable."

Neal smiled faintly. "Money can change a lot reports," he observed.

"So can the threat of a perjury indictment," Jones replied.

"Will I go to jail?" Anna asked timidly.

All turned to eyes to Peter. "It's hard to predict what any judge or D.A. will do but in this case, I would think not. You did not steal the diamond and you never profited by it." His kind brown eyes on the nervous woman, Peter said, "As far as I'm concerned, there is no case against you, Anna."

"_Gracias,_ Agent Burke." She sighed. "In a way, I am very relieved. I hated having that thing around. Once I did try to get it out; I was going to throw it in the ocean, like Papa said. But I could not move the wooden block."

"It was wedged in there pretty good," Jones observed.

"Will it go back to the Jamesons?" Anna asked.

"Only John V and Bettina Wilde are left and they've got a host of legal troubles, not the least of which is assaulting a federal agent," Diana replied.

"And me," Neal added, peeved that he wasn't included.

Diana smiled back. "Going down the list of importance."

_**WC WC WC**_

The diamond was turned over (rather regretfully on Neal's part) to the authorities and the media circled the small town for the sensational story. John Jameson V was in the hospital, confined, confused and isolated; Bettina languished in jail, spewing out threats that no one took seriously any more. Jones and Diana would stay behind for the Bureau's official response and fill out the mountains of paperwork. They drove a visibly flagging Peter and a smug but still very sore Neal to the airport to catch a chartered plane, which caused Peter to gripe about having to drive out in the first place. Both Jones and Diana promised faithfully they would bring the Taurus back.

While they waited for the plane, Jones suddenly snickered.

"What's so funny?" Neal asked. He felt aggrieved that he had only been able to look at the diamond for such a short time. Moz would be appalled.

"Yes, do tell," Peter added irritably. God, he was ready to go home to Elizabeth. He had already decided to skip the hospital, where he had been told he should check in immediately. _Forget that_. He only wanted his wife, his dog, his bed and his house. And some decent food. El would be meeting them at the airport, which couldn't be soon enough for Peter.

"You two. I'm sorry, Peter, but you and Caffrey weren't at your best in this case. Took you this long to figure out the butler did it?" Living dangerously, Jones could hardly contain his mirth.

Diana laughed and Neal looked rueful. "Guess we'll have to brush up on our games of Clue."

Peter gave his partner a glare. "You and your damn road trip!"

_**Thank you for reading and special thanks to those of you who left reviews. **_


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